


An Act of Badassery and Other Drabbles

by el_spirito



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:56:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 25,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1485472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el_spirito/pseuds/el_spirito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots, some comical and some (most) angsty, involving our favorite band of rogue operatives.Takes place both before and after the events of the movie. Here be Jensen whump.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Jensen is Finally a Badass

**Author's Note:**

> This has been up at fanfiction.net forever, but I'm starting to transfer more stuff over here.

A/N: So I have absolutely no clue about military terms, so I apologize for how lame I'm sure this sounds.

xxxx

"Why the hell does everyone automatically assume that I'm the weakest link in this team?" Jensen groaned, holding an ice pack up to his rapidly swelling eye and dabbing at the split in his lip.

"It's the glasses," Pooch supplied, taking the beer Clay held out to him.

"Nah, the hair," Roque cut in. The rest of the team laughed, and Jensen rolled his eyes, then winced.

"Damn it. The next time someone tries to go through me instead of one of y'all, I'm gonna unleash a can of whoop-ass on 'em so big…"

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure that you'll hack into their computers, maybe empty out a few bank accounts," Roque said, and Jensen glared at him with his good eye.

"I'm not the weakling you guys think I am," he declared, waving his ice pack in their direction. "I could take them."

"Like you did today?" Clay asked, raising an eyebrow.

"So they got in a few punches. I could've held my own without Cougar saving my ass."

Cougar shook his head.

"It did not look like that to me," he said. Jensen turned his glare toward the sniper. "It looked like you were getting your ass handed to you. I would have let you continue if I thought you could actually win."

Jensen flipped Cougar off in response, and the sniper didn't even try to hide his snicker.

"You just wait. You'll see. I can be badass too."

xxxx

As it turned out, they didn't have to wait long. It was a seemingly basic data retrieval mission with Jensen sneaking in to steal files and the rest of the team acting as backup and support. Of course, things didn't always go exactly to plan, and this was one of those occasions.

"Shit. Bowie, there are at least seven tangoes headed your way," Cougar hissed over his headset, and he could hear Roque swear in response.

"I'm already dealing with four guys here. Alpha, if you get some free time, I could use a hand over here."

"Acknowledged, Bowie, but I'm a bit tied up here. Gidget, how are you looking?" Clay asked, addressing the driver of their getaway car. Actually, it was a van this time, a loud advertisement for carpet cleaning splashed on the side.

"So far so good, Alpha, no one's seen me, but it's only a matter of time. Tell Tech-boy to hurry it up."

"Napster, hurry it up in there," Clay barked.

"I'm just about done. Keep your pants on, Alpha." Clay grit his teeth at Jensen's characteristic snark, then turned back to the matter at hand- disarming three very large, very pissed off security guards.

"Holy hell man, where are all these guys coming from?" Roque muttered. He grinned when a well-placed bullet from Cougar hit its mark and one of the men he was fighting dropped.

"I don't know," Clay responded, breathing heavily. "We were a bit misinformed on this one."

"That's for sure- damn it! Napster, you've got two tangoes heading your way. You need to get out of there."

There was no response from Jensen, and Clay felt his heart rate rocket up a little more.

"Napster! Do you copy?"

More silence.

"Damn it! We need to get up there. Napster could be incapacitated, and we do not want those files compromised."

"Copy that, Alpha. I'll be right there to provide support."

"Negative on that, Gidget, you need to stay out front and be ready to go as soon as we come out front. Cover our exit."

"Copy."

"Bowie, meet me up there as soon as you can get away."

"Copy that, Alpha."

Clay finally dispatched the last man he was fighting and barreled up the stairs toward the office room where Jensen was supposed to be working.

What he found was not what he was expecting.

Jensen was methodically beating the crap out of one of the men, and the other was already out cold, his face and head bloodied.

Jensen was beating him with a laptop, and he was telling him (between curses) that he was, in no uncertain terms, anything but a pansy.

Clay stood in stunned silence for a moment, turning when he heard Roque come up behind him.

"Daaamn," Roque whistled, drawing the word out into two syllables. Jensen looked up, glasses askew.

"Oh. Hey guys."

"Hey? That's all you've got to say?" Clay demanded loudly. "Why the hell weren't you answering earlier?"

"Oh. My headset fried out."

"You're our comm/tech guy. How the hell did that happen?"

Jensen shrugged. "Guess I should've checked the batteries." Clay rolled his eyes and quickly let Pooch know that they were headed out, then told Cougar to meet them at rendezvous. As they walked, he glanced over at Jensen, simultaneously proud of and startled by the splatters of blood on the hacker's face. Then he realized what he was carrying…

"Jensen, what the hell did you do to that laptop?"

"Oh. This isn't mine," Jensen said with another shrug, and Roque swore.

"So that's the laptop with all our info on it? You just blew our mission, jackass."

"Nah, I already got the info in my hard drive. This laptop is a piece of shit, I just stole it to piss the guy off. But, come to think of it," he murmured, inspecting the computer and its bloodied, dented surface, "I don't think I need it."

So saying, he chucked it into the nearest trashcan before pulling his glasses off and cleaning the blood from them.

"Damn," Roque repeated, chuckling. "Didn't think you had that in you, Geek-boy. That right there, that was badass."

Jensen stopped still for a second, his mouth hanging open, before regaining some composure.

"Well of course it was," he said, smirking. "I told y'all I would take out the next person who attacked me, and I did. When Jensen says he delivers, he delivers."

Clay's eye-rolling was practically audible, but Jensen didn't let up. Not when they got outside, not when they got into the van, not when they started driving away.

"What happened?" Pooch asked, sounding annoyed.

"Jensen beat the shit out of two guys with a laptop, and Roque told him he was badass," Clay answered. Cougar groaned.

"Now he will never shut up," he muttered. Jensen glared at him.

"Well maybe if you guys hadn't been giving me so much crap about being a pansy, this wouldn't be such a big deal. As it is, I feel perfectly justified in rubbing it in your…"

"You know what?" Pooch said suddenly. "This reminds me of a song."

With that, he cranked up the volume on the radio, and 'Don't Stop Believing' came blasting over the speakers.

Clay, Cougar, and Roque all busted up laughing as Jensen glared toward the front seat.

"Oh, yeah, this is really funny guys. Ha ha, Pooch," he grumbled, crossing his arms.

The rest of the team just laughed harder, and Pooch and Roque joined the next chorus, singing loudly and off-key.

Jensen sulked all the way home.


	2. In Which a Stakeout Leads To Bonding

A/N: Forgot the disclaimer last chapter (I do that with every story I write, I swear) so here it is. I don't own the Losers, but I've got the comic book.

There were few things that Aisha hated more than stakeouts. Sitting in a hot car with a pair of binoculars for hours at a time was confining, boring, and uncomfortable. Sitting in a hot car with Jensen…well, that was a whole new type of torture.

"So, Aisha, do you like DC more or Marvel?" He asked, smacking on a piece of gum as he spoke.

Aisha shot him a look that she hoped would discourage the hacker from continuing, but he either missed it completely or decided to ignore her.

"Personally, I like Marvel. You know, Spiderman and the X-Men. Oh, and the Fantastic 4. You know the Human Torch? If I were a superhero, I'm pretty sure I'd be the Human Torch. He's all sexy and cool and he's got girls all over him…I mean, I don't have girls throwing themselves at me, but they're probably just too shy, you know? Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm like the Human Torch."

When Jensen paused to take a breath, Aisha took the opportunity to interrupt.

"Jensen?"

"Yeah?" He answered, clearly startled by Aisha's interjection.

"Do you know why you haven't got girls throwing themselves at you?"

"Because they're shy?" Jensen said, his voice hopeful. Aisha snorted.

"You talk too much. You get antsy around women and then you talk and you talk and you just won't shut up. Sometimes a woman wants a man to listen to her, you know? And I mean real listening, not that 'mm-hmm, yep' crap you guys do."

Jensen was silent a moment, avoiding making eye contact.

"So I talk too much?" He said finally, and he actually sounded kind of crestfallen. Aisha felt a little bit bad despite herself.

"Yeah, Jensen, you do."

Jensen sighed loudly and looked intently through his binoculars, and then was silent. Aisha was just starting to get used to the silence when Jensen cleared his throat. Aisha rolled her eyes and pointedly ignored him, but Jensen repeated the action, more loudly than before.

"What? What do you want?" Aisha said finally, her frustration obvious.

"I'm not talking," Jensen explained, and his tone made it clear that he expected that to mean something to Aisha.

"Yes, and thank you for that."

"No, I mean I'm not talking, so why aren't you?"

"What?" Aisha asked, her confusion clear.

"You said that men shouldn't talk so that they could listen to you women. Well, I'm not talking, so go ahead. I'll listen."

Aisha chuckled, shaking her head.

"Really, Jensen? Just because women sometimes want to be listened to doesn't mean that I want you to listen to me."

"Then why the hell did you tell me to shut up?"

"Because you were annoying me!"

"Well why didn't you just say that instead of going off on what women want?"

"Maybe I thought you would appreciate the advice!"

"I don't!"

The car fell into an uneasy silence, and Aisha almost laughed at how immature the argument was. As the silence dragged on, though, Aisha started to worry that maybe she had actually hurt Jensen's feelings. She was trying to decide what her best move would be when Jensen quietly stuck his hand out next to her. Aisha frowned, then noticed that there was a wad of gum stuck to the end, undoubtedly half of the piece that he had been chewing since for the past fifteen minutes.

Aisha contemplated the gum for a minute; it was clearly a peace offering, but it was also a piece of ABC gum. She sighed, then took the gum and popped it in her mouth, smiling at the still intense watermelon flavor.

Jensen smiled and turned back to the window with his binoculars, and Aisha grinned as she held up her own pair.

Immature? Definitely. But also surprisingly fun.

Maybe stakeouts with Jensen weren't so bad after all.


	3. In Which Everyone Hates Africa, Part 1

Nigeria was a hellhole, and the decrepit warehouse that was currently housing Clay and his team was stifling. Even at night, the air sat heavy and humid and dank, and the five men stretched out on cots on the dirt floor were clearly uncomfortable because of it. One man in particular seemed even more restless than the others, lying sprawled out on his back in nothing but a pair of boxers, limbs askew and blonde hair matted with sweat. He was tossing back and forth, clearly uncomfortable, and moaning softly every few seconds. His groans became gradually louder until they were full-on yells, incoherent shouts of panic.

"What in the hell is going on?" Roque demanded, knife extended in front of him.

"Sounds like Jensen," Clay said, sitting up. He flicked on a flashlight that he had sitting next to the bed and swung it in the direction of the hacker. Cougar was already stumbling towards Jensen's bed, and Pooch was squinting at the sudden light.

"What the hell?" Pooch mumbled.

"That's what I said," Roque answered. Cougar was squatting down next to Jensen, reaching a hand out to the fitfully sleeping hacker.

"Jensen," he said, shaking his friend's shoulder. "Jensen!"

Jensen came awake swinging, his eyes wild in the dim lighting.

"Jensen, what the hell is going on?" Pooch demanded as Cougar nimbly ducked the tech geek's flailing fist.

Jensen stopped suddenly, breath heaving as he blinked in surprise.

"What's going on?" He mumbled, noticing Cougar for the first time and scooting away from him. "Where the hell am I?"

"We're in Nigeria, Jensen, on a mission, remember? You just had a nightmare," Clay explained. Roque snickered from behind him.

"What are you laughing at? Is this funny to you?" Jensen demanded, the anger in his voice clear.

"Hell yes I think it's funny. You've been moaning like a little girl over there-"

"I was not!"Jensen yelled, and Roque laughed harder. Even the others were snickering now. "There is nothing funny about this. Y'all can just shove it up your ass."

"What's your problem?" Pooch said suddenly, frowning. The others were still laughing, but Pooch seemed to have come to the conclusion that there may have been more going on than was at first apparent.

"What's my problem? My problem is that I'm stuck in the middle of some place, hell if I know where, and it's hotter than hell in here." As Jensen spoke, his words started to slur slightly, and when he tried to stand, he swayed precariously.

"Are you drunk?" Clay asked, frowning. All laughter had stopped now, and Cougar was standing directly behind Jensen, ready to grab him if he lost his balance again.

"Drunk?" Jensen mumbled, bringing a hand up to swipe at his forehead. "No…I don't think so…where are we again?"

"Nigeria," Clay said slowly. "Cougar?"

"He looks pale," Cougar said quietly, reaching a hand out to Jensen's shoulder. He frowned. "He is shaking."

"What the crap?" Clay muttered, moving to join Cougar at Jensen's side. Jensen, for his part, was blinking rapidly, swaying on his feet, and mumbling incoherently.

"Jensen? Hey kid, can you hear me?"

Jensen's eyes shifted to look at Clay. The team leader was a bit startled by the glassy, distant quality of the blue-grey eyes that were trained on him.

"Clay?" The hacker mumbled finally. Clay chuckled lightly.

"Yeah, it's me, buddy. How you doin'?"

Jensen brought a hand up to his head and squinted.

"Not sure."

"Not sure?" Clay turned to look at the other men, Pooch sitting, clearly concerned on the edge of his bed, Roque with his head in his hands, glancing up at Jensen, and Cougar, his brown eyes clearly conveying his worry.

"Clay?" Jensen's voice was brittle and thin.

"Yeah?"

"Don't feel so good," Jensen said, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed backward, only Cougar's quick reflexes keeping the hacker from collapsing to the floor.

"What the hell is this?" Clay barked as Jensen started seizing. Cougar was holding him in quiet fear, eyes wide. This was bad on so many levels; it was screwing their mission to hell, and something was clearly seriously wrong with the hacker, the little brother of the team.

Pooch had come to help Cougar, and they gently maneuvered the thrashing man to his cot, as Roque stood and abruptly ran to one of their coolers.

"Roque?" Clay asked, hoping that his friend would have an idea.

"My grandma had diabetes," Roque said tersely as he tossed beer and water bottles out of the cooler. "When her blood sugar got too low, she got all confused and weird."

"Hypoglycemia," Clay said, understanding dawning. "We've got to get sugar in him."

"Got it," Roque muttered, holding up a bottle of Mountain Dew.

Jensen had fallen still now, and was breathing slightly better, but had yet to regain consciousness.

"We've got to get him to drink this," Clay said to Cougar and Pooch, and they nodded, shifting the hacker's weight so that he was sort of sitting up. His head dipped forward, and Pooch carefully tilted it back.

"Hey Jensen, you need to wake up brother," Pooch said, slapping Jensen's face lightly. Jensen's eyelids fluttered until the hacker was staring vaguely at Pooch's face.

"Pooch?" Jensen slurred, a lop-sided grin on his face. "Whatcha doing?"

"Waking you up, kid," Pooch answered, letting Clay move in next to him.

"Here, Jensen. This'll make you feel better," Clay said, holding the bottle up.

"That?" Jensen said, and Clay nodded. "Okay."

Jensen took a tentative sip, coughing at the sweet liquid, but managing to keep most of it down.

"There you go," Clay said, watching in satisfaction as Jensen drank most of the bottle. A few minutes later, he'd fallen back asleep, clearly more comfortable than he had been.

"Okay, what just happened?" Pooch demanded once Jensen had been settled.

"Hypoglycemia," Clay answered wearily. He scrubbed a hand at his forehead.

"But what caused it?"

"When was the last time he ate?" Roque asked.

"He ate dinner with me. It was around 7:00."

Roque sighed. "Unless he's suddenly diabetic, I'm out of ideas."

"Well, whatever the hell it is, I hope we can figure it out soon. This could blow our mission."

That thought settled heavily on the team; their mission was a deep black op, and if anything went wrong, they would be on their own.

"We should get some sleep," Pooch said finally, and the others nodded. Five minutes later, four men slept soundly, snores echoing through the warehouse, and one man sat protectively on the edge of a bed, quietly watching over his friend.


	4. In Which Everyone Hates Africa, Part 2

They had been ordered to Nigeria and gotten their orders once they'd arrived; a particularly nasty warlord named Abiade was wreaking havoc with the country's exports of crude oil, so they had been directed to kill him. Of course, it all had to be kept quiet, the kind of black op that meant the team would be abandoned by the U.S. government if they got caught.

Yep, they were on their own out here, and it was imperative that everything go exactly according to plan. Which would have been easier if Jensen didn't feel like shit.

Apparently, he'd had some "incident" the night before that included being incoherent and having a seizure. Jensen had no memory of anything like that and just woke up feeling crappy, but judging by the way the guys were acting around him, it had freaked them out. Yeah, he'd known something had gone wrong when the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Cougar's face, too close for comfort, peering at him. It had only gotten worse, with Roque avoiding teasing him (which basically meant ignoring him) and Clay shoving Mountain Dew bottles at him every five seconds (and really, what was up with that?) and Cougar hovering quietly next to him.

And now everyone had gone out to do recon except for him- oh, yeah, and Pooch, who had been left behind to babysit.

"Come on, baby," he murmured, tapping at a few keys on the keyboard. He was currently hacking into Abiade's security cameras, which were frustratingly more complex than Jensen had been counting on. It was clear that the warlord had hired an outside company to handle security, probably European, and it was an unwanted complication that made Jensen's mood even worse than it had been. He swiped at the sweat gathering on his forehead and frowned at it, grumbling under his breath.

He'd had a pounding headache all morning, probably a result of the shit that had gone down the night before, and the heat was only making it worse. Strangely, Jensen had also found his joints tightening up, his knee and his fingers especially. He felt like an old man, and he sure as hell was too young to be doing that.

"How's it going, Jensen?" Pooch asked from across the room. He was poring over maps of the area, trying to find the quickest escape routes, reading the topography and finding the side roads and alleys that could prove central to getting out quickly and quietly. Their base of operations was far enough away from Abiade's house that they would be rendezvousing back there at the end of the operation to regroup and head back stateside. And while Jensen's rational side pointed out that Pooch needed to be at the warehouse to do his job, the other part knew that Pooch would eventually have to drive the routes anyway, and he was just here to make sure the hacker was okay.

"Nnrgh," Jensen mumbled in response, rolling his eyes. Damn it, why couldn't they just leave him alone?

"Same here. It's hot as hell in here, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

Jensen continued to focus on the computer in front of him, but he was sweating profusely and colors and sounds were starting to blur at the edges.

"Hey, you sure you're okay? You're trembling."

"What?" Jensen said, blinking. He held up his hands and noticed that he was, indeed, shaking. "Huh."

Pooch stood up, clearly worried.

"Don't," Jensen said, holding up a hand. "I'm okay." Pooch snorted, clearly disbelieving, but he sat back down. Jensen let out a sigh of relief and tried to focus on the screen, tried to remember what he was supposed to be doing, but he was having a hard time concentrating and was surprised when he noticed that his teeth were chattering.

"Dude, you seriously don't look so hot," Pooch said, and Jensen tried to wave him off again, but was overcome by a wave of nausea. He abruptly turned to the side and vomited loudly, vaguely noticing when Pooch came over and set a hand on his shoulder, but mostly just puking. A second later he fell forward out of the chair, landing on his knees in a puddle of his own vomit. He could hear Pooch talking to him in a worried tone, and then into the head mic, probably to Clay or maybe Roque, but the words didn't really register, and he was feeling hot then cold then hot then cold, and sweat was trickling down his forehead and nothing seemed real…

"Jensen?"

Jensen cracked his eyes open, frowning in confusion for a second before realizing that it was Pooch's voice he was hearing, and that he was on his back and something reeked.

"The hell?" He managed, trying to lever himself up. He failed miserably, dropping back into Pooch's arms. And damn if that didn't make the situation ten times worse. First he pukes all over everything and then he wakes up in Pooch's lap…

"Just chill, brother. The others will be back soon and we'll get this sorted, okay?"

Jensen wanted to agree, but there was something niggling in the back of his mind, something that made this situation even worse than it already was. Oh, shit.

"The mission?" He stuttered, and Pooch was ominously quiet for a minute.

"We'll figure it out when Clay gets back."

"Shit," Jensen murmured, trying again to get up.

"Jensen," Pooch said in that tone he only got with Jensen. It was the big brother, listen-or-die tone. "Sit your skinny white ass down and leave it there."

Jensen did as he was told, as much because he was too weak to protest as Pooch's order. He'd only just settled back in when he was hit by a particularly overwhelming wave of cold, and then he was shivering so much that his teeth clattered, and he couldn't get comfortable and everything hurt, and Jensen found himself praying for oblivion.

xxxx

Clay generally loved being team lead. He thrived on high pressure situations, on the ability to think on his feet and come up with solutions even when everything had gone to hell and it seemed impossible to come out on top. But sometimes, when high pressure situations involved the very real possibility of injuries or death to one of his teammates, he hated his position.

After talking to Pooch, he had decided that this particular situation definitely fell into the latter category.

"What was that about?" Roque asked, and Clay sighed. He knew better than to try and hide anything from his second; he could read him like a book.

"Jensen's worse. He started vomiting and his fever's high and he's shaking."

"And you want to go back to the warehouse," Roque said. It wasn't a question.

"Hell yes I want to go back. Something is way the hell wrong with Jensen, and he's going to need some help." He stopped talking for a second, trying to avoid Roque's gaze. It was as if the other man were waiting for him to continue.

"But we have to finish recon for this damn mission," Clay said finally, and Roque nodded.

"Think about it Clay. Cougar will be done any time, and we'll be another two hours at most. This mission is a priority, like it or not, and we have to finish this today. Jensen will be okay."

Clay nodded, running a hand through his hair and sighing.

"I know. He'll be fine. Let's get to work."

If neither of them sounded confident in their own reassurances, neither of them mentioned it.

xxxx

Everyone finally met back in the warehouse; Cougar had sighted out the spots with the best visuals of Adiabe's structure and Roque and Clay had figured out the timing and patrols of his security guards. Pooch had figured out escape routes and backup escape routes, and Jensen had sort of managed to hack the security feed.

Mostly, he had managed to purge his stomach of seemingly every meal he'd had over the past few days.

"I think it's malaria," Pooch said as soon as Clay and Roque entered the warehouse. Cougar had returned earlier and was wiping down Jensen's forehead with a damp cloth. Jensen, for his part, was thrashing and moaning, mumbling something about zombies.

"Malaria? Who the hell gets that anymore?" Roque demanded, and both Pooch and Clay shot him looks of disbelief.

"Dude, we're in Africa," Pooch said, and Roque rolled his eyes.

"Okay, okay, but don't we have, like, preventative crap or something?" He asked.

"Well, obviously Jensen missed a dose. Or something," Clay said.

"It's not contagious, right?" Roque said, shooting an uneasy look toward the ailing hacker.

"It's transmitted by mosquitoes, dumbass," Clay muttered. "Look, however Jensen got it, he has it now and we need to get him well enough to finish the mission. As soon as we're done with that we can get him to a hospital, stateside."

"I don't know, Clay. He's hardly been lucid since this afternoon. I'm not sure that he'll be able to do much of anything."

"Damn it," Clay muttered, and Roque was shaking his head behind him.

"How the hell can we do this without Jensen? He's in charge of our comm. lines, not to mention that he has to hack into the security cameras."

"Do we have any kind of medication we can give him, just to alleviate his symptoms until we can get him to help?" Clay asked. Pooch looked doubtful.

"I can give him some fever reducers, maybe some anti-nausea meds, but we don't have anything malaria specific. It might help, but not for long, and ultimately he's still going to need more help than we can give him."

"Fine. Let's give him some of those meds tonight and see if they help. If we see some results, we'll proceed tomorrow as planned. If not…we may need to consider forfeiting."

xxxx

Jensen was shivering uncontrollably, teeth chattering as he moaned under his breath. Pooch came over quietly, standing next to the thrashing hacker and Cougar, who was squatting silently next to the cot.

"Is he any better?" He asked quietly. Cougar shrugged.

"His fever seems to have dropped some," he said.

"That's good," Pooch said. He and Cougar both stood up when Jensen started to stir slightly.

"Jensen? Can you hear me, kid?"

Jensen groaned. "Not a kid," he murmured, his voice thin.

"Whatever. How you feeling?" Pooch asked with a smile.

"Like shit," Jensen answered. "Haven't felt this bad since I came down with chicken pox my junior year of high school."

"Junior year? You got chicken pox your junior year?" Pooch asked incredulously.

"M' mom gave me chocolate milk. Let me watch cartoons all day."

"Cartoons? Jensen, how old were you, 16?"

"Yeah. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, man. Always a win."

Pooch couldn't help but laugh, patting the hacker on the shoulder.

"Okay. Well, you're way more lucid than you have been most of the day. You should get some rest. Big day tomorrow."

Jensen sighed in obvious relief.

"We're still on, then?" He whispered. Pooch nodded.

"If you're up to it. Otherwise we'll have to-"

"I'll be fine, Pooch. It'll work out."

"Okay, kid. Get some sleep."

"Not a kid," Jensen muttered, before drifting off to sleep.


	5. In Which Everyone Hates Africa, Part 3

They set Jensen up to be as comfortable as he could be, his computer on a flimsy card table and a fold-out chair in front of it, a bowl to vomit into on the floor. They would have preferred him to be lying down, but realized that only increased the already high chance that he would fall asleep. Not that sitting up would help him if he was going to pass out.

"Okay, you know what your job is, right?" Clay asked, crouching down next to the hacker. Jensen was sweaty, his hair plastered to his forehead, his skin slightly jaundiced, tinted a disconcerting yellow. He looked terrible, and Clay hated that he couldn't just rest, but the sooner they got done, the sooner they got out, and the sooner Jensen could get the care he needed.

It took him a minute to answer, but Jensen finally nodded.

"Hack his security feed and loop a video of empty hallways. Monitor radios and let you know if they've detected you."

"You got it. Jensen, do you think you can handle that?"

"Hell yes," Jensen slurred. He held up a bottle of fever reducers, a can of Mountain Dew, and a blanket. "Good to go."

Clay sighed and shook his head, and Roque snorted loudly.

"Yeah, you look ready to go alright," he said, patting Jensen on the back. He and Clay stood up to leave. Cougar walked over and knelt next to Jensen.

"Vaya con dios, my friend," he said quietly. "Be safe."

"Thanks Coug," Jensen answered. "I'll be fine." Cougar nodded and stood up, stretching his arms above his head before shouldering his rifle.

"Take it easy, Jensen," Pooch said, handing him a bottle of water and a carton of chocolate milk. Jensen managed a wan smile.

"Where'd you get this?" He asked, holding up the carton. Pooch winked.

"Can't go giving away my tricks now, can I? See you soon, Jensen."

Jensen smiled listlessly as they walked out, then turned back to his computer. He normally loved his laptop. She was fast and sleek and sexy, and he'd affectionately named her Lucille as soon as he'd gotten her. Today, though, the monitor seemed too bright, making his eyes ache and his head spin, and his back and knees and elbows and fingers all hurt, and he just wanted to lie down…

As he waited for word that the guys were in position, he shivered and wrapped himself up in his blanket and resigned himself to the fact that it was going to be a long night.

xxxx

Clay was worried. He knew that they would likely be able to complete the mission without Jensen fully on board, but if the hacker became unable to help, it would make things a hell of a lot harder, not to mention more dangerous. And to be completely honest with himself, Clay was pretty doubtful that Jensen would be coherent enough to provide the support they needed, despite the tech geek's reassurances. The whole team seemed tense, a combination of worry over the mission and worry over Jensen; Pooch wasn't talking as he drove, Cougar sat with his hands alternating between his lap and running through his hair, and Roque's knee was bouncing up and down and up and down.

"He's fine, guys. We need to focus," Clay said, and the others nodded. He wondered if the lie was as blatant to the others as it was to himself.

They reached the compound with few problems, Pooch parking the van and watching as the others headed out. Clay activated their comm. links; they would be open the whole time to make things as simple as possible for Jensen.

"Pinball, this is Alpha. Do you copy?"

"Copy," Jensen answered. His voice wasn't as strong as usual, but he seemed pretty alert, which was great, considering.

"We are approaching entry point," Clay said. Cougar broke off from the others, heading towards the area where he would be staked out for the best view.

"Eagle is in position," Cougar's voice crackled over the comms.

"I've got the security feeds hacked," Jensen said, coughing hoarsely for a second and clearing his throat loudly. "I'll loop when you give the word."

"Roger."

Clay and Roque moved forward together, silenced assault rifles raised and ready. It was easy to take out the two guards posted by the side door, and then they were in.

"Okay Pinball, we're in."

There was a bit of a hesitation on the other end.

"Copy that, Alpha. Cameras are on loop."

"Copy," Clay repeated. He and Roque continued down the hallway, Clay silently grateful that Jensen had managed to accomplish his most important task.

xxxx

Pooch loved his job. There was nothing more satisfying than driving a huge van or truck over rough terrain as fast as he could. Well, maybe flying a helicopter or an airplane, but that was it. The one part of his job that he didn't look on so fondly was when he had to just sit and wait for his team to come out.

He listened idly to Clay and Jensen's chatter, letting out a sigh of relief when Jensen said that he'd gotten the security feeds looped. And then it was back to pretty much silence. Pooch managed to stay alert, training his binoculars on the exit, but he was a little bit bored and found himself playing with the Chihuahua on his dash. He was brought back around abruptly by a choking noise coming over his comm. piece.

"Alpha, do you copy? Is that you?"

"I copy. Bowie and I are fine."

"Eagle is fine."

"Shit. Pinball? Pinball, do you read me?"

The choking sounds continued, mixed with a strange gagging noise, and then a crash.

"What the hell is going on?" Clay hissed. Pooch ground his teeth.

"I think Pinball is having a seizure."

"Shit," Clay whispered. "We need to get done and get the hell out of here."

"No arguments there," Roque said.

"Holy shit," Pooch whispered. He tried to keep himself calm, tried to tell himself that Jensen was fine, but the evidence told him clearly and unequivocally that, in fact, he wasn't okay, not by any stretch of the word.

"Pinball? Pinball, if you can hear me right now and you're messing with me…" He left the threat hanging, listening to the continued disturbing sounds.

"Pinball?" Cougar said tentatively. "Pinball, do you copy?"

Finally, the choking noises stopped, but they were replaced with worryingly raspy breathing, shuddery gasps for air that were almost as disconcerting as the gagging.

"I-I'm…shit, I don't kn-know what just happened," Jensen said suddenly, his voice weak.

"You don't remember?" Pooch asked quietly.

"No. But I feel like shit."

"Okay. Just hang in there, Pinball, and we'll get back to you as soon as we can, okay?"

"Copy that," Jensen said quietly.

"Target is in sight." Clay's voice crackled to life over the comm. "Approaching target now."

There was the clear sound of silenced shots, and then some shouts.

"We have been compromised. Eagle, we'll be taking your exit, Mojito, be ready to run like hell."

"Copy."

"Copy."

"Eargh…copy."

Pooch found himself praying for a quick exit and for Jensen to hang on for just a little longer.

They definitely got a quick exit. Roque and Pooch came flying out of the compound in a hail of gunfire, Roque limping and Clay clutching at his arm. Cougar ran out of the shadows at their side, quickly ducking under Roque's arm and helping him to the van. They barreled into the van, and Pooch squealed backwards as more bullets started hitting the van.

"Hang on," he roared, as he quickly shifted gears and plowed forward. Clay heaved open the back doors of the van and all three men in the back threw themselves down onto the floor, opening fire at the men who took up their pursuit.

"You're gonna have to lose these tails!" Roque yelled, ducking as a bullet ricocheted near his head.

"Ya think?" Pooch yelled back, wrenching the van to the left. He was glad for the research he'd already done as he wove through the dirt streets. He was painfully aware that there was the added pressure of getting back to Jensen as quickly as possible, but the tails were damn persistent and he couldn't risk leading them back to the warehouse.

"G-guys?" Jensen's voice came over the comms, thready and quiet. "I-I, uh, I don't f-feel so good."

"Hang on, kid, a bit longer," Roque growled, biting his lip as he tightened a bandage around his leg.

"C-can you hurry?" Jensen whispered. Pooch felt a stab of panic at the vulnerability in the hacker's voice and stepped on the gas.

"We are, Pinball, we'll be there soon."

"C-copy th-that."

xxxx

It seemed like forever before they were finally in the clear and able to get back to the warehouse, and Clay could feel his anxiety ramping up. He hadn't felt so helpless in quite awhile. Gunshots he could deal with, and had, but malaria he had no experience with, and he had no way to help the youngest member of his team.

As soon as they reached the warehouse, all four men scrambled out of the van, Cougar again helping Roque inside.

"Jensen? Jensen, answer me!" Clay bellowed as they entered.

"'M here," Jensen said weakly. He was slouched over in the chair, shivering under the blanket, his skin pale and bags beneath his eyes . There was a pile of vomit to the side of the chair.

"Hey, hey, how you feeling?" Pooch asked, dropping to his knees next to Jensen.

"Not s-so good," Jensen answered, twitching slightly.

"What's goin' on?" Pooch asked as Cougar came back with a damp washcloth. He handed it to Pooch and then went toward Clay and Roque, needle and thread in hand.

"Back hurts," Jensen answered, gritting his teeth. "Chest t-too."

"Okay, let me take a look, alright?" Jensen nodded, wincing as Pooch lifted his shirt. Pooch's eyes widened.

"Ohhhhh, shit," he said under his breath, gently palpating Jensen's abdomen.

"What is it?" Clay asked, hissing as Cougar tied off his stitches.

"His abdomen's swollen. I don't know what it is, but I don't think that's normal."

"Sure as shit it ain't normal," Roque muttered. "We gotta get to a damn hospital."

"A Nigerian hospital?" Clay asked skeptically.

"We gotta get to our transport. They might be able to get us to Britain or Germany."

Clay nodded. "Sounds like a good idea. Pooch, when's our transport scheduled?"

"Tomoroow at 2400 hours."

There was a pause.

"Can he wait that long?" Cougar asked finally. They all turned to Pooch, who had helped Jensen back to his cot and was wiping Jensen's forehead down.

"I don't know," he said with a shrug.

"'M fine," Jensen said, trying to smile and failing. "'S okay."

"Okay, kid, we'll just hang tight for a day, okay?"

Jensen nodded, lying down and trying to take a calming breath, and Cougar replaced Pooch's place at the hacker's side.

A few minutes later, Jensen looked up, his cheeks getting a hint of color for the first time that day.

"Can y-you h-help me to the b-bathroom?" He whispered, and Cougar smiled slightly.

"Of course," Cougar said. He helped the hacker to his feet, grunting slightly under his friend's weight. Jensen managed to shuffle his feet, but most of his weight rested worryingly on Cougar. They managed to get to the outhouse out back that they'd been using, Cougar lighting the way with his flashlight, but another problem quickly arose as the sent Jensen into another round of vomiting. Once it was done, he stood shakily and Cougar helped him to the hole where he would do his business.

"'M sorry," Jensen whispered, clearly embarrassed that he was too weak to stand on his own.

"It is okay," Cougar said, helping him with his fly. He looked away as Jensen relieved himself, but turned to face him when Jensen grunted in pain.

"I think s-somethin's wrong," Jensen muttered. Cougar looked down, shining his flashlight towards Jensen.

His urine was bright red.

"I think you are right," he whispered, heart sinking.


	6. In Which Everyone Hates Africa, Part 4

Jensen was shivering again, teeth clattering together and body trembling. He was clutching weakly at the sheet he had pulled up to his chin, and his head thrashed back and forth as he slept. The others stared at him for a second before Roque spoke up.

"He was pissing blood?" He asked. Cougar nodded solemnly and ran a hand through his hair. "Shit." They'd all pissed blood at one point or another, usually from a blow to the kidneys that led to bruising and nothing worse. Jensen had received no such blow, which was a dishearteningly worrying fact.

"So something's going on with his kidneys then," Clay muttered, scratching idly at the two-days' growth on his chin.

"Yeah. And something's up with either his spleen or liver too, not sure which," Pooch said in a low tone. "His abdomen's swollen all to hell."

There was a potent silence for a moment, broken only by the small noises Jensen was making every once in a while, a whimper or a groan.

"Is he gonna last until tomorrow?" Roque said finally.

"He's gonna have to," Clay answered. "We'll just have to help him through it."

As it turned out, 'helping him through it' was an exhausting task for Clay's unit, and Clay hated to think how much of a toll this was taking on the hacker. They worked in shifts to keep Jensen's fever down as much as possible with rags dipped in tepid water; ice was a rare commodity and they couldn't risk being seen to go find some. The warehouse was stuffy and hot, and everyone was sweating, and they knew that they were less than ideal conditions for someone as ill as Jensen was. All in all, the situation sucked.

Around 3 in the morning, with Roque on Jensen Duty, everyone else was trying to get a little shut-eye, mostly in vain. Cougar and Pooch had each managed to nod off for a few minutes at a time, but Clay hadn't been able to sleep at all. The responsibility he felt combined with his inability to do anything was grating. Why hadn't he seen to it that Jensen had been vaccinated? He'd known the rest of the team was because they'd run another mission in Africa only six months earlier, but Jensen hadn't been working with them at the time. Was he that negligent? He cared for his team, thought of them as brothers, but he'd let Jensen go to Africa without a damn malaria vaccination. What the hell kind of leader did that make him?

"Shit! I need some help!" Roque barked, and Clay shot bolt upright, noting even as he ran towards Jensen that Pooch and Cougar were following. Roque had his arms on Jensen's shoulders, trying to keep the hacker on the cot as he seized, limbs twitching and eyes rolled back and foamy spit gathering at the corners of his mouth.

"Don't hold him down," Clay said as he reached Roque's side. "We need to get him on the ground." They gently lifted the thrashing body, settling him on the floor with a pillow beneath his head, then Pooch quickly moved anything that was close enough for Jensen's flailing limbs to hit.

"How long?" Clay asked quietly. Roque checked his watch, then looked up, his face grim.

"Going on two and a half minutes."

"Damn it," Clay muttered under his breath, rubbing his eyes wearily. His arm was hurting like a bitch, and he was tired, and he couldn't do a damn thing to help Jensen, and this was all getting really old really quickly.

Abruptly, the hacker stilled, his breathing coming in wheezing gasps, his face dotted with sweat.

"Roll him on his side," Pooch said, and Cougar helped him turn Jensen into the recovery position. A minute later, Jensen was vomiting violently with Cougar holding him up.

"He ain't gonna last another 18 hours, Clay," Roque said quietly, and Clay nodded his agreement.

"Pooch, is there any way we can get that transport sped up?" Clay asked, and Pooch shrugged.

"I'll try," he said, "but I can't guarantee anything. We're kinda in a hot spot as it is."

"Just do what you can," Clay said. "We don't have a lot of choice, here."

Jensen stopped heaving, finally, and Clay cleaned up the vomit as Pooch and Cougar lifted the still tech geek back up onto the cot. Once he was settled, Pooch took over wiping him down with a semi-cool cloth, and Clay turned back to head to his cot. He was surprised to see Roque kneading at his leg, face crinkled in pain, and was abruptly reminded that Jensen wasn't his only team member that was down for the count. All the movement that Jensen's seizure had caused probably hadn't helped Roque's leg.

"You okay?" He asked. Roque nodded brusquely.

"Don't hurt more than a bee sting," he mumbled. Clay didn't believe him for a minute, but he still felt a rush of relief that his second was joking around. "I fucking hate Africa."

Clay chuckled at that, shaking his head.

"Me too, Roque. Next time we get a mission anywhere on this damn continent, I'm gonna tell 'em where they can shove it."

"We could just shoot them instead," Roque suggested hopefully, and Clay was only mildly surprised to realize that he was serious.

"Yeah, probably not gonna happen," he said with a small laugh, and Roque shrugged.

"Worth a try," he grunted. He played idly with a knife for a few seconds, testing its sharpness and then flipping it around a few times before speaking. "That scared the shit out of me."

Clay was taken aback, and frowned. "What did?"

"Jensen." Roque continued speaking without looking up, staring at first his knife and then the ground. Clay was surprised by his candor; Roque rarely talked about his feelings. Clay remained silent and let him continue.

"He was just, you know, he wasn't okay, because he isn't okay, but he wasn't…he was okay. And then he wasn't and he was just twitching and his eyes…shit, Clay, I couldn't do anything. I mean, I hate the kid! He's annoying and he won't shut up and he's so damn naïve. I've wanted to shoot him before, actually shoot him, pull the trigger and watch him fall. And now, here he is dying and I just...I don't know. He'd just better last until that transport gets here."

Clay was surprised, to say the least, by the other man's words, was caught as off-guard by Roque's unwilling connection to Jensen as Roque himself was. He held out a few pain killers to his second, grinning wryly.

"He'll make it. And once he does, you can beat up on him all you like."

"Oh, I will," Roque said, dry-swallowing the pills. "You can count on that."

xxxx

A few hours later, Jensen was doing relatively well, alternating between being so chilled that his whole body shivered and being hot and sweaty. He'd had one other seizure, but it wasn't as long as the first, and it was starting to look like maybe he would make it until the transport came. Pooch had managed to get it coming a few hours earlier than originally planned, but they still needed it to be dark outside, which meant waiting until 9:30 for pickup.

"Coug?" Jensen moaned suddenly. Cougar looked up and smiled at seeing his friend fairly coherent for the first time in hours.

"How are you?" He asked, kneeling down next to the cot.

"Like shit," Jensen answered with a wan smile. "I, um, I need to take another piss."

Cougar nodded and held up a pan.

"We thought you might."

Jensen wrinkled his nose, frowning at Cougar.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Jensen groaned loudly, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, then wiped a shaking hand across his forehead.

"As if passing out in front of you wasn't bad enough."

"And your seizures."

Jensen groaned again. "You sure know how to make a guy feel better." He shivered suddenly, a tremor passing through his whole body. His eyes rolled for a second before he focused again on Cougar's face, managing to smile slightly before his teeth started clattering together.

"Jensen?"

Jensen groaned.

"Are you okay?"

Jensen groaned again before shrugging. "Getting cold again. Sometimes 'm hot, then 'm cold. Still need to pee, too."

Cougar helped Jensen sit up, trying to ignore the shivering form beneath his hands and the swollen belly that Jensen was curled over. Jensen groaned loudly as he urinated, his trembling increasing, blood dribbling down his chin where he bit through his lip. His pee was, again, bright red.

"You're going to be okay," Cougar said quietly, rubbing a hand on Jensen's back and trying to support his friend through his pain. "It's okay."

"Hurts," Jensen grunted, gripping Cougar's arm tightly. "M' dick hurts." Cougar chuckled quietly, wincing in sympathy.

"I am sorry, amigo," he said.

"Should be," Jensen groaned, head dropping forward. "I've been betrayed by m' own manhood."

Cougar snorted and helped Jensen settle back down before taking the pan out to empty. It was frighteningly red.

"Any better?" Clay asked, falling into step next to him. Cougar shook his head, and Clay sighed.

"He'll be outta here in a few more hours. He's just got to hang on a bit longer."

"He was with me for a few minutes," Cougar said quietly. "He was here."

"That's good," Clay said, nodding. "That's a good sign."

"I hope he will stay aware."

He didn't.

xxxx

Jensen was delirious. He was in full-blown, hands-down delirium, thrashing and shouting, limbs flying as he screamed. He was pale and drawn, purple-black bags under his eyes, eyes bloodshot and out of focus.

"Jensen, you are safe," Cougar whispered, holding Jensen's thrashing form as well as he could.

"The transport will be here in an hour," Pooch said finally, looking at Jensen with concern.

"Let's load up," Clay said. He and Pooch began loading things up, Clay hindered by his hurt arm.

"We can do this," Cougar said quietly, rubbing Jensen's back soothingly. "We can do this."

"Can't do this," Jensen mumbled. "Zombies everywhere. We're all dead." Cougar smiled slightly.

"The zombies cannot get you here," he whispered quietly. "You are okay."

"No," Jensen insisted, shaking his head. His voice started to raise. "They're coming. They're gonna get in! It's a zombieapocalypse!"

"Jensen, you've got to calm down," Cougar said, feeling Jensen's breathing and heart rate speed up. "I won't let them get you."

"Got to snipe their heads," Jensen whispered. "Hit 'em in the brains."

"I can hit their heads," Cougar answered. "I am the best."

"Yeah," Jensen agreed. "The best. You can take 'em all."

"Hell yes I can."

"Cougar," Pooch whispered. "We've got to get out to the landing pad."

"Okay," Cougar said. He turned to Jensen, helping leverage the hacker up. "We are going home, Jensen."

"Home," Jensen said. "No zombies at home."

"Nope. No zombies there. Come on, kid," Pooch said, helping Cougar get Jensen on his feet. Jensen grinned loopily.

"'Kay."

Duffles slung over their shoulder, Clay helped Roque out while Pooch and Cougar held Jensen up between them.

"Almost there, kid," Pooch whispered. Jensen's head hung down, his chin touching his chest, but he managed to nod weakly.

The sound of a helicopter was a welcome noise and everyone let out a sigh of relief. Jensen looked up.

"'S like a dragon," he slurred, eyes crossing slightly.

"Yep, exactly like a dragon," Pooch agreed. "Shoots fire and everything."

"Cool," Jensen said, grinning lopsidedly.

xxxx

The next day found Jensen settled comfortably in a British hospital, IVs in both arms, monitors hooked up to him, tubes running everywhere, and dialysis running to take the strain off his kidneys. His spleen was still enlarged but was starting to come down thanks to one of the many drugs flooding his system, and though he was getting better, he seemed as out of it as he had been when he'd been gripped in delirium.

"Good to see you doing better," Clay said, stepping into Jensen's room. He had a bandage on his arm, but he was grinning.

"Thanks, Clay," he slurred, raising a heavily tubed hand. "Feel better than I did. Still feel funny, though. Like I'm floating."

"Floating, huh? Well, you did some good work back there, kid."

"Thanks. 'M a badass," Jensen muttered, grinning crookedly.

"That you are," Clay laughed, nodding. "We're going to head back to the States tonight, got a bunch of paperwork and all of that shit. Soon as you get stable enough to get out of here, they'll ship you back home."

Jensen nodded hesitantly, smiling in an effort to hide his disappointment. Clay finally grinned, patting Jensen's shoulder.

"Of course, we don't all have to go stateside right away. Coug's gonna hang out with you if that's okay."

Jensen looked up suddenly, grinning widely.

"Really?" He said, eyebrows raised.

"Really," Cougar said, walking into the room.

"He doesn't talk much, but he's better than nothing," Clay said, punching Cougar lightly in the shoulder. "I'll see you guys on the other side."

Cougar settled into the chair at Jensen's bedside and picked up the remote, turning the TV on and flipping through the channels.

"Daytime," Jensen muttered. "Nothing good on."

Cougar continued flipping until he stopped on a telenovela, and grinned at Jensen.

"Soap opera?" Jensen asked, frowning.

"This is a good one," Cougar said, leaning back and crossing his ankles on Jensen's bed.

"I don't speak Spanish," Jensen protested. Cougar shrugged.

"I will translate. Diego has just walked in on Analucia getting it on with Juan…"

Jensen smiled and settled deeper into the bed. This was the most he'd ever heard Cougar talk at once, and despite how hazy everything felt, he was sure that he would remember this and rub it in later.


	7. In Which Clay Might Be Dying

It started with a headache, which wasn't really very odd. With the burden of being team lead and looking out for everybody, plus the constant stress of seeking revenge, it wasn't unheard of for Clay to go through the day rubbing his temples and popping Tylenol like candy. So when he woke up with a pounding headache, and a strong aversion to bright lights and loud noises, it wasn't really that strange.

Even when the nausea started, so severe that he couldn't sit upright without swaying dangerously and gagging in his mouth, it was within the realm of normalcy. When his right side went numb, though, his hand hanging limply at his side, his leg dragging when he tried to walk, the team knew something was seriously wrong.

"Dude, he could be having a stroke," Pooch said worriedly as he scrounged through the team's belongings. He finally produced a bucket and held it up victoriously, right before shoving it into Clay's hands as he started puking again.

"People die from strokes," Aisha said, a hint of anxiety in her tone. "And he's too young for that."

Pooch shrugged, but his shoulders were tense with worry. "Could happen."

"Shouldn't we get him to a hospital?" Cougar asked.

"Yeah. If this is a stroke, he's gonna need a hospital sooner rather than later."

"My body hurts," Clay groaned suddenly. Aisha raised an eyebrow.

"Your body hurts?" She repeated. Clay shook his head, then winced.

"No. Not m' body. Can't think…" Clay moaned, and Aisha exchanged a worried look with her companions. What the hell was going on?

About that time, Jensen finally arrived at the warehouse, a good hour and a half later than their planned meeting time. He strolled in wearing a Chuck Norris shirt and with a box of donuts in hand, grinning broadly.

"Morning, bitches!" He cried, setting the box down. "I brought donuts!" He was surprised by the seething glares he got from his teammates as Clay groaned loudly, clutching his head.

"Clay might be dying, and you're talking about donuts!" Aisha hissed. Jensen abruptly turned pale.

"What?" He gasped.

"We think he might be having a stroke," Pooch explained. "Help us get him to the car."

"Oh shit," Jensen murmured, looking at Clay. The team lead was pale with a greenish tinge, rocking back and forth slightly, left hand clutched to his temple. "It could be a brain tumor. Clay, do you smell anything burning?"

Clay groaned, Pooch and Aisha shot him twin glares, and Cougar rolled his eyes.

"What? It's a legitimate question!"

Ten minutes later and one bucket half-full of vomit later, they pulled up to the emergency room, fake IDs in hand. Clay was bundled off into a room pretty quickly after they described his symptoms, and when he spewed all over the reception desk it seemed to expedite things even more. The rest of the team was left in the waiting room with a clipboard full of paperwork to fill out.

"You sure this insurance thing will work?" Aisha whispered, looking suspiciously at Jensen. The hacker gulped visibly and nodded.

"Course I'm sure," he said. It wasn't the first time he'd faked insurance cards, and it sure as hell wouldn't be the last.

"How old is Clay?" Pooch asked without looking up.

"I don't know, 45?" Aisha guessed.

"56?" Jensen hazarded.

"56? Seriously?" Aisha demanded, staring at Jensen incredulously.

"What?" Jensen asked, spreading his hands. "Dude's old!"

"44," Cougar said. Pooch nodded his thanks.

"He doesn't look anywhere near 56," Aisha grumbled. Jensen stuck his tongue out at her.

"Allergies?" Pooch asked, looking up from the paperwork.

"Umm, none?" Jensen said, clearly uncertain.

"Strawberries," Cougar said. Pooch nodded his thanks and wrote it down.

"How do you even know that?" Jensen demanded. Cougar shrugged.

"Father's medical history? How the hell am I supposed to know?" Pooch demanded, gesturing wildly with the clipboard. "This thing has so many damn questions."

"I don't know," Aisha said. "Just make something up."

"About his medical history? That'll just make things worse."

"Whoa, whoa, back up," Jensen said, holding his hands up. "Clay has a father?"

"Jensen, stop being a smartass!" Pooch yelled, even as Aisha shouted his name and a few choice expletives. Cougar rolled his eyes.

"Excuse me," a nurse said finally, clearing her throat loudly. The bickering stopped abruptly. "Someone will be out to speak with you soon. In the mean time, please don't talk so loudly. You're disturbing some of the patients."

"Of course. Sorry," Pooch said hastily. The minute the nurse left, he turned to Jensen. "Way to go, Jensen," he hissed.

"Hey, that was not my fault," Jensen answered, glaring.

"Are you here for Clay Wakowski?" A voice said, and everyone stopped talking and looked up.

"Yeah," Pooch answered. Jensen was staring open-mouthed at the nurse, a huge woman, broad and towering, and with a voice practically as deep as Clay's. Cougar noticed and elbowed him sharply in the ribs, and Jensen bit back a yelp.

"Well, he's not having a stroke. Your friend had what's called a hemiplegic migraine. It presents with many similar symptoms as a stroke, but we've got him on some anti-nausea meds and some pain medication for the headache. He's pretty disoriented and he's having some slight speech disturbances, but those should go away with the rest of his symptoms. If he doesn't get well in another 24 hours, you'll need to bring him back in. Any questions?"

"Have you ever taken steroids?" Jensen muttered under his breath, then hissed with pain as he got another elbow to the ribs.

"No, I think we're good," Pooch said quickly, glaring at the hacker. The nurse nodded, then eyed Jensen. Jensen slouched down a bit so that his face was mostly blocked by Cougar's shoulder.

"Well, he's pretty out of it, so if one of you wants to come back with me to get him…" The nurse said finally, letting her voice trail off as the Losers glanced at each other.

"Don't look at me," Aisha said. "I had to empty his puke bucket."

"No," Cougar said simply. Jensen glanced at the nurse again.

"I'm good," he said quietly. Pooch sighed.

"I get the damn paperwork and now this," he grumbled, standing and following the nurse. He could barely contain a half-chuckle, half-groan when he heard Jensen's unmistakable voice.

"But seriously guys, didn't she look like a WWE fighter?"

xxxx

A/N: So I've actually had a few hemiplegic migraines before, and my parents did think I was having a stroke the first time it happened…pretty much the crappiest thing I've ever experienced, and most of Clay's symptoms mirror the ones I've had.


	8. In Which Jensen Gets To Drive

Jensen looked over at Pooch and grinned.

"Hey Pooch, can I drive today?" He asked, eyes wide with excitement. Pooch snorted.

"Are you seriously asking me?" He demanded, one eyebrow raised.

"Nah, man, I was just messing," Jensen answered hastily.

"You'd better be. What is it I told you?"

"The Pooch owns the van. The Pooch drives the van. The Pooch kills anyone else who touches the van."

"Damn straight. Now get in." Pooch smirked as Jensen ducked into the passenger seat, looking suitably chastised.

"Am I that bad of a driver?" Jensen asked as Pooch sat down in the driver's seat.

"First of all, I'm the extraction expert. You're the comm./tech expert. The extraction expert is awesome. He can fly helicopters and drive like Vin Diesel. The comm./tech expert can play with little computers. They are not interchangeable. Secondly, you're like, the worst driver I've ever seen."

"What?" Jensen demanded, glaring at Pooch. "The worst driver you've ever seen? No way in hell."

"Okay, what happened last time you tried to drive a van?"

"So I might have crashed a little bit, but nobody got hurt and it wasn't really my fault."

"Fine. What happened last time you tried to drive a humvee?"

"You saw that! Dude had a missile launcher, what was I supposed to do? I couldn't just let him shoot us."

"So instead you ran over him and crashed into a building."

"Fine. I get it. Whatever, Pooch." Jensen turned sulkily, facing the passenger seat window, arms folded petulantly in front of him.

Pooch shook his head and laughed as he turned the van on, listening to the rumbling of the engine.

"There it is. I knew this girl still had some life in her," he said with a grin. Jensen didn't even acknowledge that he'd spoken. "Clay thinks we need a new van. I told him that I'd get this one working no problem, and voila, working van. The Pooch delivers once again."

Jensen grumbled something under his breath, probably about Pooch talking in the third person, but Pooch cheerfully ignored him, cranking up the music in the van as they headed out.

"Are you seriously going to avoid talking to me until we pick up Clay and Cougar?" Pooch asked incredulously. "Cause you know that that's a 20 minute drive, and then we have to wait for them to get out of the building."

Jensen remained quiet. Pooch turned the music up. Two minutes later, Jensen was unable to stay quiet any longer.

"Did I ever tell you about the difference between cats and dogs?" Jensen asked, and Pooch rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Jensen, you did."

"Fine," Jensen huffed. He was quiet for a second before speaking up again. "Hey Pooch, what's brown and sticky?"

Pooch took his eyes off the road for a second to glare at Jensen.

"Is this a race joke?" He demanded. Jensen threw his hands up in the air as if in surrender.

"No! Hell no! Just a joke."

Pooch eyed him for another minute. "Okay. What was the question again?"

"What's brown and sticky?"

"Shit."

"Seriously Pooch? A stick, dumbass."

"A stick? A stick? And you're calling me a dumbass? Jensen, that's the stupidest joke I've ever heard!"

"Well I like it!" Jensen yelled. "It's hilarious!"

"Hilarious? Yeah, maybe if you're a 5 year old!"

"Well you're just being a jerk! You know it's funny but you just don't want to admit that I'm-"

Whatever Jensen had been about to yell was abruptly cut off by a whooshing sound and then a sudden explosion that rocked the van onto its side before sending it rolling off the road and down a hill. It finally rolled one last time before standing still and miraculously upright.

Inside, it was completely silent.

xxxx

Jensen had no idea how long he'd been out when he came around. He blinked slowly, trying to get a bearing on his surroundings. The van's windows had all blown in, and his door was shredded, barely still attached to the frame.

Pooch wasn't moving.

"Pooch. Pooch!" Jensen yelled, wincing in pain. Something in his chest was moving around, a couple ribs out of place, probably, and yelling exacerbated it to the point that he thought he was going to pass out.

"Pooch, come on," he said more quietly, a bit more breathlessly. Pooch was lying slumped against the steering wheel, blood pouring down the right side of his face.

"Shit man, wake up," Jensen pled, shaking Pooch's shoulder and hissing in pain. Something in his abdomen was spiking in pain too. Just what he needed.

"Okay, okay, you can do this Jensen. This is a piece of cake," he said to himself before pushing himself up and over towards Pooch. He nearly screamed in agony as he moved a few scant inches.

Then he heard something that sounded an awful lot like someone sliding down the hill toward them. Jensen was grateful that he'd remembered to carry his piece for once and quickly pulled his gun out, flicking the safety off. Whoever was coming was being cautious, and seemed to be taking forever, of maybe that was just because Jensen's head was pounding and his belly ached and every breath felt like a stab of ice hitting between his ribs.

The man finally got close enough that Jensen could see him from around the battered doorframe of the van. He was holding a rocket launcher in one hand. Jensen kept his head behind the frame, took as deep a breath as he could manage and grit his teeth, then turned and fired twice in close succession.

Bam, bam. Double tap to the head. The man collapsed soundlessly, bonelessly.

Jensen collapsed back against the seat, breathing in shallow pants.

"Got 'em, Pooch. Nailed that bastard." He wanted Pooch to wake up, to say something snarky about Jensen's shooting skills, but his friend remained frighteningly still.

"Okay, that's okay Pooch. I'm going to check on you, okay?" Painstakingly, Jensen dragged himself to Pooch's side, ignoring the tears that pricked at his eyes. "Just gonna make sure you're still here," Jensen said, resting two bloodied fingers on Pooch's even more bloodied neck.

"Well, you're alive," he said with a small sigh of relief. You probably knew that though, huh? Damn, this is a real shithole of a situation. I think I'm gonna have to move you. I know I shouldn't do that if you have a head injury, but I'm going to try to drive this thing out of here, and you're kinda in my way. Okay? Pooch?"

Pooch remained still and quiet.

"Fine. Be that way," Jensen said, but he could feel his composure starting to slip. "Any time you want to wake up and yell at me would be fine."

Gingerly, Jensen lifted his friend up, groaning in pain through gritted teeth. By the time he'd gotten Pooch shifted over, his head resting fairly comfortably against the shredded seat, he was sweating, yelling in pain.

"Okay. Okay. You're okay, Jensen. Just breathe." Breathing hurt like a bitch, and he was heaving in shallow gasps that left him craving more. "Damn it," he whispered, cradling his ribs painfully. His fingers encountered something wet and sticky.

"You're losing more blood than I thought, Pooch," Jensen murmured. He pulled out his knife, one that had once belonged to Roque, and cut up Pooch's shirt, slowly tying it as tightly as he could around the other man's bleeding head.

"Okay. We're gonna go now, if I can get this piece of shit started."

Jensen turned the key once, twice, with no result.

"Damn it," he swore under his breath. "Damn it! Come on!" On the fourth try, the engine sputtered and then flared to life, sounding a bit like an asthmatic lion, but definitely working. Jensen chuckled in relief and rested his head against the steering wheel for a minute before sitting up again.

"Okay. Here we go, Pooch. I'll try not to mess your baby up anymore than she is already." Jensen knew it was strange to be talking to Pooch as if he was conscious, but somehow it helped him stay grounded, so he continued talking to his unconscious teammate as he maneuvered the van onto the road. He had no idea how to get back up to the road they had been initially driving on, so he drove in the same direction, even as he dug his cell phone out of his pocket. He swore the whole time as his position put more pressure on his already aching ribs, but he managed to get it out.

"Bingo," he muttered, noting his position on the GPS and then Clay's. "We can do this, Pooch. We got this."

Pooch didn't say anything, but Jensen thought that he might've shifted his head slightly.

"You waking up, man? Keep it up, Pooch. You're gonna be okay."

He drove as fast as he could get the battered van to move, trying to ignore the feel of Pooch's blood on his shirt, of the pounding headache he had, of the shallow breaths that were all he could manage but that still hurt.

"Pinball, do you copy?"

His comm. crackled suddenly, and Jensen jumped. He'd honestly forgotten that he even had one in.

"Umm, roger Alpha. I copy."

"What's your status, Pinball? And where's Mojito?"

"Umm, Mojito is out of commission right now, and I'm driving. Someone knew we were coming, shot us with a rocket launcher. We're about five minutes out, taking a different route."

"Copy." Jensen thought that he could detect worry and anger in Clay's tone. "Where's the man who shot at you?"

"I took him out."

"Copy that. How's Mojito?"

"He's unconscious at this time."

"And you?"

Jensen licked his lips.

"I'm fine."

"Okay, Pinball, get here as soon as you can."

"Copy that. Pinball out."

Clay would give him hell for the white lie later, but for now Jensen was more concerned about getting to rendezvous and taking care of Pooch than of getting reamed out.

Besides, it wasn't that much of a lie.

Right?

xxxx

Clay shook his head as he signed out. Of course something would happen; he should have known better than to send Pooch and Jensen together. They were perpetually getting in trouble alone, so putting them together was just asking for disaster.

"Clay?" Cougar asked as Clay clamped his jaw.

"Pooch's down," Clay answered.

Cougar nodded once.

"And Jensen's driving."

Cougar swore under his breath.

The unmistakable rumbling of an approaching vehicle bit off whatever else was going to be said, and both men raised their weapons, then sighed in relief when their van, beat up and looking more dead then alive, rolled up the drive.

"Pooch!" Clay yelled, immediately heading for the passenger seat. Cougar helped him maneuver the limp extraction expert out of the front seat and into the back, though the walls were dented. Pooch roused slightly as they lay him down, and Clay grinned.

"Good to have you back, soldier," he said. Cougar had left the back so that he could take over driving from Jensen.

"You know where you are?" Clay asked. Pooch squinted.

"Van. Rocket launcher and we crashed- shit, Jensen!"

"He's okay. He's here, drove you guys here."

"Kay."

"I'm gonna get you strapped in, and then we'll get you out of here, okay?"

"Kay."

Pooch definitely had a concussion, Clay noted, and they'd have to keep an eye on him to make sure it wasn't anything more severe; the laceration on his forehead would probably need stitches. But overall, it could have been way, way worse.

xxxx

Cougar walked swiftly toward the front of the van, letting out a sigh of relief when he heard Pooch's voice drift up from the back.

"Jensen," Cougar said, leaning into the front window. There were shards of glass all over the cab, and he could see some glinting in Jensen's hair.

"Hey Coug," Jensen said, and Cougar knew immediately that something was wrong. The hacker's eyes looked a bit distant and glassy, and he was pale. His breathing was coming in short gasps.

"What is wrong?" Cougar asked, wrenching the door open.

"M' ribs hurt a little," Jensen answered with a lopsided grin.

"That is all?" Cougar said.

"Maybe m' head. A little."

Cougar shook his head in worry. If Jensen wasn't complaining about it, then he was probably hurting a lot worse than he was letting on.

"There is blood on you," he said, suddenly noticing the red stain on Jensen's shirt.

"Nah," Jensen said, looking down. "Pooch's."

"Are you certain?" Cougar asked, frowning.

"Yeah, sure," Jensen answered, but he looked pale and unwell.

Clay came up behind them and looked at Jensen, raising an eyebrow.

"Jensen? You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Jensen answered. it didn't escape Clay's notice that Jensen had yet to move at all since he'd gotten there.

"Okay, then why don't you get out and let Cougar take over the driving?"

"Right," Jensen said. He gingerly eased himself forward, inching out of the van. He managed to get his feet under him and stood up, the color draining from his face.

"Jensen, maybe you should-"

"'M okay," he interrupted. "'M fine."

He managed two steps toward the back of the van before his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed to the ground.

"Damn it, Jensen, what the hell?" Clay cried, falling to his knees next to Jensen's prone form. Jensen was already rousing, looking up at Clay in confusion.

"Clay?" He mumbled. "Wha's going on?"

"You passed out, dumbass. You said you were fine."

"I am."

Clay raised an eyebrow and lifted up Jensen's shirt. A good-sized shard of glass was protruding from his abdomen.

"Shit, Jensen," Clay murmured.

"Huh," Jensen said, paling suddenly.

"Jensen?"

"Dizzy," Jensen said. Cougar knelt next to Clay and pressed a bandanna up against Jensen's wound, carefully wrapping it around the glass.

"That would be blood loss, Jensen. Cougar, let's get him in the back."

"I can do it," Jensen protested. Cougar rolled his eyes and clay ignored him as they each slipped a shoulder under his arms. Jensen took a few halting steps but was unable to walk, and he ended up being carried to the back of the van with his feet dragging in the dust.

"Jensen?" Pooch said, looking up in confusion as Clay settled the hacker next to him in the back. Cougar went up front to drive and Clay sat in the back next to Pooch and Jensen.

"You still with me?" Clay asked Pooch as he pressed firmly against Jensen's abdomen. The hacker groaned and writhed under his hand a bit, eyes cracking open.

"Yeah," Pooch answered. "Whassup with Jensen?"

"Idiot got hurt and didn't say anything."

"Was kinda busy," Jensen slurred. He groaned again, his back arching and the veins in his neck popping.

"Hang on, kid, we'll get you to a hospital soon."

"'Kay," Jensen grunted, an arm curling protectively around his ribs. Clay watched him with worriedly, clenching his jaw, as Jensen struggled to stay conscious. His eyes started rolling as he fought to stay awake, and Clay shook his shoulder gently.

"Hey now, none of that," he said firmly. "You can't sleep yet, buddy."

"Hurts," Jensen whispered.

"I know, kid, I know," Clay answered.

"Breathing," Jensen gasped, "hurts."

Clay helped ease the hacker up to a semi-sitting position so that he was leaning against the side of the van. His panting eased up slightly, but it was far from optimal.

"Almost there," Cougar called back, and Clay nodded. He pulled out the fake IDs that they had taken to carrying with them, grateful that Aisha's contact had done such a thorough job with them.

"Hear that, Jensen? Almost there, kid. How you doin' Pooch?"

Pooch flashed him a thumbs up.

"How 'bout you, Jensen? Jensen?" Clay felt his stomach sinking as the hacker remained unresponsive. Jensen's skin was a dull gray color, his lips the lightest shade of blue. His blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage, and Clay felt a stab of fear.

"Jensen! Did you jostle that glass? Jensen!"

Jensen remained still, but the bandage was getting steadily redder, blood dripping onto the floor of the van now.

"Shit, I think it nicked the aorta," Clay muttered, pressing as hard as he could against the wound. "Cougar, step on it!"

Two minutes later, they pulled up to the hospital, Cougar blatantly ignoring the man telling him he couldn't park there (he went so far as to yell 'no hablo ingles' rather loudly a few times)and wrenched open the back of the van.

It didn't take long to get someone's attention, between their yelling and their blood-drenched clothes, and then Jensen was wheeled away and then Pooch was led to a back room, and then Cougar and Clay were all alone.

"I hate this part," Cougar muttered. "I cannot do anything."

"Hey, they're both tough bastards. They'll be okay."

An hour later found Pooch drugged to the gills on pain meds, sleeping in the cot in Jensen's room, Cougar curled up in the chair next to his bed, and Clay sitting on the windowsill.

Jensen still looked like shit, all bandages and pale skin and oxygen canulas and a line of blood running to his arm from an IV, but he would be okay with a few weeks' rest. Pooch would be too.

And while the mission hadn't gone to plan (when did they ever?) it could have been ten times worse than it was. They would be okay, and ultimately, that's what mattered.


	9. In Which Wade Is A Bad Man, Part 1

Jensen sighed and walked a little faster as Wade pushed through the dense undergrowth. He ducked as Wade hacked aggressively at a plant, nearly taking off a piece of Jensen's head.

"Uh, hey big guy, I know we're trying to make good time and all, but do you think you can tone down the hacking a little bit? My hair took me all morning," Jensen said, laughing nervously. Wade didn't even acknowledge the hacker's presence.

"Okay, that's cool too," Jensen said finally. "Good thing I've got catlike reflexes."

Wade's only response was to hack at another poor, unsuspecting plant.

Jensen rolled his eyes and wondered once again why he had gotten stuck with Wade. The man had been assigned to their team for one mission, and one mission only, and of course Clay had made the executive decision that Jensen would be the lucky one chosen to work with Wade. Granted, he probably did that because Jensen was arguably the member of the team most in need of a huge, hulking bodyguard, but still.

"So this mission has gone pretty well so far, yeah? We've got the info," here, he held up his laptop and grinned, not that Wade was looking, "and Clay got the bad guys, so now we just meet up and we're golden."

Wade grunted in response, which Jensen took to be a good sign. He opened his mouth to say something to his stoic companion when a sudden bolt of pain shot up his leg, and he bit back a scream.

"Holy- shit!" He managed to yelp, collapsing awkwardly to the ground. Once down, his problem became all too clear- a large metal trap was clamped around his lower leg just above the ankle, and blood was already welling around the teeth biting into his skin. "These things- have got – to be illegal," he gasped, panting harshly. "I think it hit the bone. Damn it!"

It took Jensen a second to realize that Wade had stopped and was looking down at him, but making no move to help him, and he laughed humorlessly.

"I'm pretty sure if you can help me open the trap, I can get my damn leg out," he rasped, trying to keep his breathing under control. "Shit this hurts. Damn it! Son of a bitch!" He grit his teeth and tugged uselessly at the metal teeth, groaning in frustration and pain.

Wade stared at him.

"Wade? Can you give me- a hand?" Jensen gasped, a dark feeling of something disturbingly close to panic creeping up his spine. Wade continued to stare at him, and Jensen thought he saw the slightest hint of a smile cross the other man's features.

"Wade?" He whispered, panic morphing into full-fledged fear.

Wade didn't say anything, but knelt down next to Jensen's prone form. Jensen laughed shakily.

"You were f-freaking me out there for a minute," he stuttered. "Glad y-you're- what are you doing?" He flailed, trying to shove Wade from him, but he was too weak to prevent the bigger man from plucking the comm. link from his ear and dropping it to the ground.

"Wade, hang on, what the hell?" Jensen yelped, but Wade just shot him a grin as he stood and brought his foot smashing down onto Jensen's headset. He plucked Jensen's laptop up off the ground in the next instant and grinned at Jensen, giving him a mock-salute. "You bastard," Jensen ground out, but he was in so much damn pain that he was having a hard time focusing. It was pounding in his leg and up his body and his head hurt and he was cold and he was being left in the middle of the jungle by a freaking oversized Neanderthal.

And then he was alone, and Wade was off somewhere and he was still here bleeding and stuck.

What. The. Hell.

Taking a deep breath, Jensen strained as hard as he could against the metal trap; his leg exploded in a sudden flash of pain, and he wasn't sure if he had opened the trap or not or if it had snapped closed again on his leg or if he just hadn't done anything.

And then he passed out, so none of that really mattered anymore.

xxxx

Pooch had hated Wade since he'd gotten assigned to their unit. The man was hulking and angry and just stupid enough to disobey orders and screw their mission or get someone hurt.

So to say that he was surprised by the gun he suddenly found shoved under his nose would be a stretch. To say that he was pissed, however, would be an understatement.

"Get out of the truck, Pooch," Wade said, grinning. "Hands in the air, and I want your piece, and your backup piece, and the knife you keep in your boot." Pooch complied, gritting his teeth as he dropped his weapons on the ground, hands interlocked behind his head.

"What are you doing, Wade? You know you aren't going to get away with this," Pooch grumbled as Wade started patting him down.

"Looks to me like your van is about to be gone. How you gonna meet up with your unit?"

"You're making a big mistake, Wade. I don't know how well you know Clay, but he will hunt your ass down. One way or another, you're going to get yours."

Wade grunted and handed Pooch a set of handcuffs.

"Behind the back," he said, and Pooch flared his nostrils angrily as he complied.

"Where's Jensen, Wade? What did you do to him?"

"He's fine."

"I know Jensen. If you're here, and he's not, he isn't fine." The hacker seemed pretty unimposing at first, but Pooch knew that Jensen was a dangerous person to underestimate.

"He might be stuck and short a few pints of blood, but he's breathing. Happy?"

"Yeah, thanks, I feel way better. Jackass," Pooch muttered, trying to quell the worry that he felt rising. What the hell had happened to Jensen?

Wade checked the handcuffs and seemed satisfied that they were on tightly, then shoved Pooch to his knees, pressing a gun up against his temple.

"I could kill you right now," he hissed, and Pooch shuddered at the warm, rank breath brushing his ear.

"Do it then, you son of a bitch," Pooch growled. There was a click as the safety was turned off, and Pooch felt his heart rate speed up.

"Nah."

There was a pain in his head and then black.

xxxx

Cougar knew something was wrong. Jensen wasn't answering Clay, and now Pooch had gone silent as well. The mission had been a straightforward counterguerilla op; Clay and Roque were taking out a well-known militia leader while Jensen swiped the hard drives of the unit's computers. Cougar provided back up for Clay and Roque, Pooch acted as a lookout in case other factions decided to show up.

Something was wrong, and he was pretty damn sure that Wade had something to do with it.

"Alpha, this is Eagle One, requesting permission to pursue Pinball and Mojito."

"Eagle One, permission granted. Bowie and I will make our way from rendezvous to Mojito's lookout point."

"Copy that. Eagle One out."

Cougar slung his rifle over his shoulder and quietly leapt to the ground. Crouching low, he ran towards the last place he'd seen Pooch, hoping that for once his gut was wrong.

xxxx

Pooch woke up with a headache and a feeling of both dread and fury. He was going to kill Wade, that much he knew, but his more immediate concern was helping Jensen. And figuring out how to get these damn handcuffs off. He struggled to his feet with a grunt, swaying for a second as the world seemed to spin. A few seconds later, equilibrium regained, Pooch headed toward the underbrush where Wade had emerged.

"You stupid bastard," he muttered, grinning as he saw the clearly marked path that the big man had made. He was no Cougar, but even he would be able to follow these tracks.

Twenty minutes later, Pooch was getting concerned. He had no clue how long he'd been unconscious, and the longer he went without finding Jensen the less likely it was that the hacker-

Pooch shook his head. It wouldn't do anyone any good to think like that.

But still.

And then, he was there, saw what Wade meant, saw the blood and the pale and the stillness-

"Jensen!"

xxxx

Cougar had no trouble finding the trail Wade marked, and he hoped that Pooch was following it as well. He didn't want to think about where Pooch would be if he wasn't heading back for Jensen, and he told himself that the small amount of blood he'd found where the van should have been wasn't enough to indicate serious injury.

But still.

He was making quick time through the undergrowth when he heard a yell, definitely Pooch and definitely a bit panicked.

He ran faster.

What he found was simultaneously what he had expected to see and worse than he had expected; it was definitely, undoubtedly worse than he had hoped.

Pooch was on his knees, his hands behind his back, struggling to shake Jensen's still form. He was repeating Jensen's name over and over again, his voice shaky and trembling.

Jensen was pale and he wasn't moving and there was blood staining the leaves green.

"Pooch," Cougar said, walking briskly toward the distraught man. Pooch looked up.

"Shit, man," he muttered, blinking rapidly. "I need- I can't- my hands."

Cougar nodded, slipping a pin from the brim of his hat and making quick work of the cuffs. Then he turned his attention back to Jensen.

The hacker was breathing in short gasps, face crinkled in pain, and around his lower calf was a huge-ass metal trap.

"Fuck," Cougar muttered, kneeling down to look more closely at his injured comrade. Jensen's leg was a bloody mess, and Cougar was fairly certain that he could see glimpses of white bone amongst his tattered jeans.

"Holy shit," Pooch muttered, and Cougar was startled to hear the other man sniffle.

"Pooch?" He said, looking up from Jensen's leg.

Pooch wiped at his eyes. "Don't know what's wrong with me," he said, sniffing again. Cougar frowned and gripped Pooch's head, turning it to the side. He nodded knowingly when he encountered a knot behind the other man's ear.

"Concussion," he said.

"Damn it," Pooch said. "I get all weepy and shit when I get concussions."

"Si." Cougar was getting more and more concerned when Jensen remained motionless as he inspected the trap, trying to figure out the easiest way to loosen it.

"Jensen," he said, and he heard Pooch repeat it. "J." He slapped lightly at the hacker's pale cheeks, then rubbed a knuckle roughly over the tech's sternum.

Jensen groaned softly and stirred slightly.

"There it is, homeboy, come on," Pooch said, and Cougar rolled his eyes when he heard the other man let out a half-muffled sob.

Jensen groaned loudly before his eyes popped open.

"Shit!" He yelled, clenching his eyes shut again and grinding his teeth. "Shit!"

"Stay still," Cougar said putting a restraining hand against Jensen's heaving chest. "We will get this open."

"Tried already," Jensen panted, running a trembling hand through his hair. "Think it snapped back."

"I will not let it snap back again," Cougar said.

"Me neither," Pooch agreed.

"This will hurt. I think that your shin bone was broken."

"Feels like it," Jensen said, letting his hand rest over his eyes. "Damn it."

"Hang on," Cougar said, and moved to open the trap. A bloody hand caught his arm, and Cougar looked up to see Jensen supporting himself on trembling arms into a half sitting position.

"It was Wade," Jensen said. "'M sorry."

Cougar nodded once, covering Jensen's hand with his own.

"Don't be. It was not your fault. Now brace yourself."

Jensen nodded and let his head drop back down, breathing deeply through flared nostrils.

With a single nod between them, Pooch and Cougar pried the trap open and quickly maneuvered the hacker's leg out of it.

Jensen screamed and passed out.

Pooch cried.

Cougar stripped off his shirt, silently berating himself for how dirty and sweaty it was, and wrapped it tightly around Jensen's leg, refusing to let himself think about what he was doing.

"Pooch," he said, looking up at the sniffling man next to him.

"Yeah," Pooch croaked.

"We have to wake him up. We have to meet up with Clay."

"Okay," Pooch said, but Cougar could see his lip trembling, and he silently cursed concussions.

"You have to stop crying."

"Okay," Pooch repeated, and this time Cougar could see him steeling himself.

"Jensen," he said, turning back to the limp hacker. This time he bypassed the slapping and went straight for the sternum rub, relieved when Jensen woke quickly.

"Jensen, we have to walk back to rendezvous with Clay and Roque." He didn't mention the fact that they had no van once they met up with their unit leader, or the fact that he had no clue how they were going to get out of this once they got there.

"Okay. Help me up."

Pooch and Cougar each grasped one of Jensen's arms, pulling them over their shoulders. Jensen, for his part, managed to quell his scream, but the bitten off groan and bloodied lip almost seemed worse.

"You with us, Jay?" Pooch asked. Cougar was glad to note that Pooch didn't sound like he was anywhere close to crying.

"Mmhmm," Jensen groaned. "Yeah. 'M good."

"Okay. Here we go, nice and slow," Pooch said. Jensen smiled lopsidedly.

"That rhymed," he said, chuckling softly.

Cougar smiled slightly and tightened his hold on Jensen's arm, once again reminded of just how muscular the hacker was. He pushed doggedly forward, keeping an eye on Jensen's color and praying to a god he was pretty sure didn't exist.

It was going to be a long walk.


	10. In Which Wade Is A Bad Man, Part 2

Jensen wasn't talking anymore. Every once in a while he would grunt in response to something Pooch was saying, and sometimes he even managed one word answers, but he wasn't talking. He was barely walking now too, his feet dragging more and more, though he was gamely trying to hold up his own weight.

Cougar was growing concerned.

Pooch, for his part, was telling Jensen about the first time he saw Jolene, sniffling as he recounted how beautiful she looked. Jensen huffed out a breathy laugh.

"Coug?" Jensen gasped. Cougar could feel him trembling.

"Is something wrong?" Cougar asked. Jensen swallowed thickly.

"Can we-stop?" He asked breathlessly. "Just for-a minute?"

"Of course," Cougar said, stopping his forward momentum. Pooch finally seemed to realize they were slowing and stopped talking.

"Coug?" He asked.

"Jensen needs a break," Cougar answered, already feeling Jensen sag between them. Pooch helped him maneuver the tracker toward the ground, gently easing him down.

"Thanks," Jensen gasped, wincing in pain. He was still trembling, wiping a shaking hand across his forehead. Cougar wordlessly handed him a canteen, which Jensen gulped gratefully from.

Cougar knelt down and inspected Jensen's wound; blood was already soaking through the makeshift bandage Cougar had fashioned from his shirt, and Cougar bit his lip in concern. Jensen groaned slightly as Cougar inspected the wound, shifting in discomfort and gritting his teeth. Pooch let a hand rest on

"I am sorry," Cougar said as he tried to tighten the bandage around his friend's leg. Jensen didn't answer. "Jensen?"

"Stuff's spinnin'," Jensen said, his words slurring. Cougar looked up in concern as Jensen's face paled and his eyes rolled back in his head.

"Pooch," Cougar said as he moved to catch the limp form. Pooch quickly helped Cougar lay Jensen down, catching Cougar's gaze and returning it with a worried look of his own.

"What are we going to do?" Pooch whispered, bottom lip trembling threateningly.

"We will get him back to Clay," Cougar answered. "We are not too far now."

"I'll carry him," Pooch said, nodding and standing up.

"No," Cougar said. "I will."

"Look, I may be concussed and crying, but I'm not stupid. J is taller than you and he weighs more, Cougar."

"I will carry him."

Pooch sighed. "Fine, but I see you getting tired and I am going to make you let me help,

Cougar nodded once, then knelt down next to Jensen. He gently took off Jensen's glasses and tucked them into a pocket, then swung the hacker's limp arms over his shoulder and hefted his weight up, staggering briefly. Damn, he kept forgetting how bulky Jensen was.

"You good?" Pooch asked.

"Yes."

They stumbled forward together, Pooch with Cougar's gun and canteen slung over his shoulders, Cougar with Jensen slung over his.

Cougar pressed on determinedly, gritting his teeth as he felt the sweat trickling down his forehead and neck and shoulders. It was hotter than hell in the jungle, and the humidity was high. And Jensen wasn't a lightweight.

Jensen groaned suddenly and shifted slightly, so Cougar stopped and helped ease him off of his shoulder.

"Jensen?"

"Cougar?" Jensen was squinting up at him, clearly confused and in pain, and now blinded as well.

"Si," Cougar answered, slipping Jensen's glasses onto his face. Jensen blinked a few times and smiled wanly.

"How far away are we?"

"Not far. You passed out, and Coug's been carrying you," Pooch said, and Jensen immediately turned to glare at the sniper. Cougar was clearly tired, sweat trickling down form under his hat, his torso shiny with perspiration.

"You shouldn't- shouldn't do that," Jensen grunted, screwing up his eyes in pain. "Not in this heat."

"I am fine, Jensen," Cougar answered firmly, but Jensen shook his head.

"No. From now on, I walk or you two c-carry me together. Damn it!" He yelped, moving to grip his leg. Cougar stopped him.

"Your bone is broken and it is an open wound. You should not touch it."

"Damn it," Jensen repeated, breathing heavily.

"Do you think that you can walk?" Pooch asked, his voice heavy and thick.

Jensen nodded.

"Okay." Pooch and Cougar once again pulled Jensen's arms over their shoulders and leveraged him to his feet, neither of them saying anything when Jensen yelped in pain. Cougar could see Pooch blinking back tears. Apparently, Jensen did too.

"'M okay, Pooch. Don't worry 'bout me."

"Okay, J. Just hang tight." Jensen nodded wearily in response, grinning lopsidedly at Pooch.

Twenty minutes later, they were nearly out of the jungle and back to where they were supposed to meet up with Clay and Roque. It was painfully clear that Jensen had paid dearly for walking those twenty minutes. He was pasty white, his face screwed up in pain. There were beads of sweat on his upper lip and forehead, and blood trickling down his chin from where he'd been biting his lip. His breathing was coming in measured gasps, and it was clear that it was taking most of his concentration just to keep that under control. His head drooped forward, his chin nearly brushing his chest.

"Almost there," Cougar whispered. Jensen nodded almost imperceptibly, a tiny movement that spoke volumes as to how weak he was. The bandage around his leg was almost entirely red. Cougar wasn't sure how much longer the hacker would be able to continue.

"Cougar!" The shout was sudden, and Cougar looked up in relief at the sound of Clay's voice.

"Here," he yelled back, a shudder of relief coursing through his body. Pooch whooped, and even Jensen seemed a bit rejuvenated, bringing his head up to look in the direction of Clay's shout.

"What the hell happened to you guys?" Roque demanded, bursting out of the undergrowth with Clay right behind him.

"Wade," Cougar answered, spitting the name and adding a few choice expletives under his breath.

"He knocked me out," Pooch said, rubbing a hand over his head. "Left J here to die after he got caught in a hunting trap."

"Yeah," Jensen echoed weakly, unable to add anymore to the conversation. He looked at Clay with wide eyes. "Sorry."

"Don't be," he said gruffly, kneeling to look at his wound. "Your leg's messed up to hell."

"Yeah," Jensen huffed through clamped teeth, "I figured."

"Okay, Wade took off with our transport, so the plan right now is to try to steal one from inside the camp."

"The camp where you just took out the leader," Pooch said.

"Yes."

"The camp where everyone is going to be out for blood."

There was a pause.

"Yes."

"Don't be such a pansy ass," Roque grumbled even as Pooch shook his head nervously. "We've been through worse."

"Yeah, but Jensen's hurt and I'm out of it and Cougar pretty much gave himself heat exhaustion!

"We have no other options here, Pooch," Clay said patiently. "Roque and I will handle carrying Jensen until we get closer-"

"Jensen doesn't need to be carried," Jensen interrupted, clearly offended despite his obvious weakness.

"Hell yes Jensen needs to be carried," Roque fired back, glaring at the hacker. Jensen glared back, though his look lacked the ferocity that Roque's held. He grumbled something under his breath and Roque flipped him off in return.

"As I was saying," Clay said, clearing his throat. "You and Cougar can handle carrying supplies. Once we get there, we'll formulate a more specific plan but for now, Cougar will provide us with cover while Roque and I take care of anyone close enough to the vehicle to give us trouble."

"Me and Jensen?" Pooch asked.

"You'll be with Cougar. Now let's get out of here."

"One thing," Cougar said suddenly. Clay paused. "Wade is mine."

"Damn it," Roque muttered. "I wanted him." They all knew, though, that once Cougar had staked a claim, no one else was getting in on it. Ever.

xxxx

The walking went faster this time, but it was still painfully long, and Jensen had long since passed out when they got to the edge of the camp. Clay lowered him to the ground behind a well-placed knoll that would allow Cougar to cover his teammates while keeping Jensen and Pooch out of the line of fire.

"He don't look too good," Roque said, glancing at Jensen's pale form.

"He'll be fine. We just need to get out of here," Clay answered.

"Wish we had the van," Roque said. "Has the damn first-aid kit in it."

"Yeah, that would be nice," Clay said. "But we don't, so it's that much more imperative that we get Jensen out of here."

Roque crawled to the crest of the hill, looking at the personnel truck they had chosen to take, one with a canvas roof and sides over the back.

"Doesn't look too bad. I figure we take 'em by surprise, should be quick and easy. Course, that's assuming we don't announce our presence." He pulled a knife out of his waistband and grinned, raising his eyebrows at Clay. Clay rolled his eyes as Cougar screwed a silencer onto his rifle. Clay crouched down next to Pooch.

"Pooch, we have to keep this quiet. If Jensen wakes up and he's confused, he might make some noise. That happens, you have to shut him up, okay? Whatever it takes." Pooch nodded seriously.

"I got it."

"And you can't be crying."

"I won't."

"Good. Roque," Clay said. They crept over the top of the hill and out of sight as Cougar set his rifle up. Pooch settled down by Jensen, sitting close.

"Okay kid, just sleep. Just stay asleep."

xxxx

Pooch walked as Cougar's rifle recoiled again and another bullet casing slipped out and onto the ground. So far he hadn't heard anything, could picture Clay with his silenced assault rifle and Roque slipping up behind someone and cutting his throat.

Jensen's breathing was getting worse. He was panting quickly and shallowly, and his skin had started to take on a hint of blue. And while it was a good thing tactically that Jensen was unconscious, Pooch was concerned that he hadn't woken up yet.

"Just hang in there," he whispered. Jensen, predictably, didn't answer.

"Pooch," Cougar whispered suddenly. "Help me with Jensen. Now."

Pooch nodded, helping Cougar pull the hacker up the hill, trying not to jostle the leg but failing miserably. Jensen's eyes flew open just as Cougar clamped a hand over his mouth, and the muffled scream made the hairs on Pooch's arms stand up.

"You are okay," Cougar whispered as they boosted him to his feet and started down the hill. "You are okay, Jensen. Breathe." Jensen's breathing slowed slightly, though his eyes were wide and his whole body was trembling.

Roque stood in the back of the truck, arms outstretched to help Jensen into the truck.

"This is going to hurt," Cougar whispered. "But you cannot yell, you cannot scream. Do you understand?"

Jensen managed a weak nod, his head drooping forward. Cougar gripped his shoulder, then climbed into the back of the truck. He and Roque each grabbed one of Jensen's arms and pulled him up, Pooch helping from below. Jensen was shaking with the effort of keeping quiet, so badly that it almost looked like he was having a seizure.

"Good job," Cougar said as Pooch climbed in, and Jensen let out a pained groan in response, one that seemed to Pooch to be the sound of pure agony.

Roque hit the floor of the truck twice, and Clay gunned the engine. They sped out of the camp, Jensen gasping and losing a shade of color every time the truck hit a bump. Pooch found himself praying for a smooth road as much as he hoped that no one noticed they were leaving.

"We're almost clear, guys," Roque said, casting a worried glance at Jensen. The hacker's hands were scrabbling at the bottom of the truck as he writhed in pain until Cougar wrapped his hand around one of Jensen's cold ones.

"Calmate," he whispered, running a thumb in circles over Jensen's sweaty forehead. "You are okay."

Jensen swallowed harshly, gasping for air with rolling eyes. Pooch found himself praying for Jensen to just pass out already, but the tech geek was grasping tenaciously to consciousness.

Suddenly, bullets pierced the canvas protecting the side of the truck. Cougar threw himself over Jensen as Pooch and Roque moved automatically to the back of the truck, opening fire on their assailants.

"Damn it!" Roque yelled as another truck came into view.

"Take care of 'em, Roque!" Clay yelled. Roque continued firing on the enemy truck as Cougar joined him in the back.

"Keep it steady!" Cougar yelled to Clay, then took careful aim, hitting the front left tire of the truck.

"Woo!" Roque yelled. "We're home free, Clay!"

"Good shooting, boys!" Clay called back.

"Clay," Cougar said, his tone instantly changing the mood in the truck. "We have to hurry."

"What is it?" Pooch asked, worry coloring his voice. Jensen was now asleep; he didn't move as Cougar peeled the edge of the bandage back, revealing a bloody mess of a wound.

"We already knew that," Roque said quietly.

"Yes," said Cougar, "but it feels warm. He feels warm."

"Shit," Roque said. "Infection?"

Cougar nodded in response, and as Pooch looked at the still hacker, he could see the bits of color creeping into his cheeks.

"Clay?" Roque said. "Step on it."

xxxx

"Man. I am so thirsty," Jensen said loudly, his casted leg upraised on a pillow and his laptop settled firmly on his lap. "Roque, do you think you could hand me that chocolate milk?"

"Shut up," Roque growled. Jensen looked offended.

"I'm injured, Roque. I had to have surgery on this leg. I'm high on painkillers. I have to be off my feet for weeks. And you can't get me chocolate milk?"

"You think you can guilt-trip me, Jensen?"

Jensen nodded. "Yeah. Cause I'm right. And cause I'm just gonna get more and more annoying the longer you ignore me."

Roque glared at him for a minute before grumblingly climbing to his feet and pulling a chocolate milk from the fridge as the rest of the unit watched in amusement.

"You watch your back," Roque grumbled, pointing the drink at him accusingly.

"Oh, I will," Jensen said, grinning as he opened the milk. He raised it in a toast to Roque before taking a long swig. "I will."


	11. In Which Clay Makes A Mistake

It happened fast- so fast, that in the minutes and hours to come, Clay couldn't remember exactly what happened. There'd been bad guys shooting at him and he'd been pinned down, bullets pinging near his head, and he had no clue where Jensen was.

"Jensen!" He roared, reloading his gun with cold-numbed fingers, snow blowing into his face. He'd forgotten how much he hated Russian winters. There was no response from the hacker and Clay hoped that he hadn't been killed but suspected that that might be likely. He liked the kid; had liked him since that first moment those few months ago that he'd shown up, spiky hair and glasses and all. He told himself that the kid's obvious worship of him didn't have anything to do with it, but he was lying.

"Jensen, damn it, answer me!" Still no answer, more bullets, and then he was flinging himself over the log and shooting at everything that moved, at everything that remotely resembled a person, surviving the only thought that was running through his head.

And then it was quiet.

Clay stood up, lightly fingering a small graze on his upper arm, then walked toward the area the Russians had been using for cover. One, two, five dead bodies, all blood and staring eyes and there, in the middle, his target, the man he'd been sent to take out.

"Alpha One to Bowie, mission complete."

"Roger that, Alpha One, rendezvous is open and ready."

"Copy that, Bowie, I'll be headed your way as soon as I locate Pinball."

Silence for a moment on the other end of the line; Jensen's still new and Roque's been teasing the crap out of him, but Clay suspects that the other man cares more than he'd like to admit. He knows for a fact that Cougar and Pooch have already taken to him.

"What's Pinball's status, Alpha One?" That was Pooch, a slight waver to his voice that Clay hadn't heard since that mission where Roque and Clay had both been hit and Cougar had been knocked out and Pooch and Jensen had been forced to salvage the mission.

"Not sure. Alpha out."

Clay straightened up again, wincing as his back popped, then headed toward the van where the hacker had been headed in an attempt to steal the mission files they'd needed.

And stopped dead.

Jensen had somehow managed to get around behind the Russians' defenses and had been providing Clay with backup fire. Now he was lying in the snow, writhing slightly as blood poured from a wound in his gut.

"Jensen?" Clay whispered, realizing something horrible as he dropped to his knees, taking off his coat and draping it over Jensen's legs.

"C-Clay?" Jensen whispered. His glasses were gone, knocked off somewhere, and he gazed up with unfocused eyes at the leader that he adored so much.

"Hey, kid," Clay said, heart sinking as he took in the red-tinted snow.

"Think- I think you m-messed this one up, s-sir," he stuttered, one hand gripping the wound as the other scrabbled in the snow in a desperate attempt to find something to grip. He settled for grabbing hold of Clay's lower pant leg, bunching it up between blood stained fingers and blue tinged fingernails.

"Shit," Clay whispered, quickly shucking off his pack and digging through it for the first-aid kit. "I'm sorry, Jensen. I wasn't looking-"

"'S okay," Jensen mumbled, looking at him with those damn loyal eyes.

"It's not okay," Clay muttered, gently prying Jensen's hand from the wound and shoving a wad of gauze onto it. Jensen moaned weakly but was unable to do much more than thrash a bit, and Clay forced himself to ignore the bad feeling that was settling into his gut.

"Bowie, this is Alpha One, Pinball is hit, repeat, Pinball is hit. We need an extraction, now."

"Damn. Roger that, Alpha One, we're on our way."

Clay turned back to Jensen, taking in the other man's alabaster skin tone, the quivering body.

"Jensen, you stay with me, you hear me? You just hang on, wait for ol' Pooch to come get you."

Jensen nodded weakly, gulping in air in huge ragged gasps.

"S-sorry," he whispered, groaning as Clay shoved another patch of gauze down.

"Don't be. This is my fault," Clay said, hating himself even as he said it. People went down from friendly fire all the time. But never before his men, and sure as hell never from his gun. He was too good for that. His men were too good for that.

He was jolted back to the present when Jensen's gasps turned into an ominous gurgle, and Clay turned him onto his side, watching with horror as blood trickled from the hacker's mouth to add to the stained snow.

"None of that, Jensen," Clay said as Jensen started to go limp. "Jake? Jake! Come on, son!" Jensen roused slightly, looking up with those unfocused eyes and showing red teeth in a weak attempt at a smile.

"C-Clay," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut as a wave of pain washed over him. "Hu-hurts."

"I know," Clay answered, rooting around in the bag for a small syringe of morphine. He knew that with Jensen coughing up blood, the hacker's respiratory system was already under stress, but Jensen was already slipping into shock and he was concerned that with the frigid temperatures, the hacker wouldn't be able to recover from that.

"I've got some morphine right here, okay? You'll feel better in no time."

"Liar," Jensen said, breath hitching. Clay smiled wryly as he plunged the syringe into Jensen's thigh. Jensen didn't react at all except to let out a small sigh as the pain meds started working.

"Better?" Clay asked. Jensen shrugged.

"Went from a t-ten to a s-se-ven."

Clay swore under his breath. He wouldn't risk an overdose, but Jensen was declining at an alarming rate.

"C-Clay," Jensen whispered again, eyelids fluttering. "C-can't, I can't, damn i-it, I-"

"Jensen," Clay said, gripping one of the hacker's cold hands and pressing on the wound with the other, "Don't try to talk. You're okay."

Jensen shook his head weakly, his mouth forming the words I'm sorry even as he started to choke again.

"No, no no no, don't do this to me, kid," Clay said, rolling Jensen again and watching as an alarming stream of blood spattered to the ground. Jensen didn't respond, his whole body trembling as he gasped for air that just wasn't coming.

"Jensen, come on," Clay said, pressing more gauze against the huge exit wound on Jensen's back. Shit!

"Mojito, what's your ETA?" Clay asked, rolling Jensen back onto his back and checking for the pulse that was too slow, the breaths that were too shallow.

"Eight minutes, Alpha One."

"Make it three."

"Roger that." Pooch sounded worried, and Clay could hear Cougar loudly demanding something in the background.

"You hear that, Jensen? You'd better hang on or you're gonna have some very pissed guys after you. Jensen? Jensen!"

Jensen was limp, his lips brushed with a light tint of blue.

"Damn it," Clay muttered, knuckling Jensen's sternum. Nothing. "Damn it!" He dug in the first-aid kit again, coming up with a breathing barrier, then laid his ear over Jensen's chest. No rise and fall, and his pulse was barely detectable.

"Nuh-uh, not that easy, kid," Clay said, covering Jensen's mouth and nose and administering two quick breaths. Blood covered his hands and the ground and Jensen and everything and Pooch wasn't going to be fast enough this time and he had just killed this kid, just killed his own man-

"Clay! We gotta get him loaded up! We've got the local ER on standby- oh, shit, is he breathing?"

Clay paused between breaths, shook his head, resumed breathing. Cougar ran up next to him with a mask for Jensen, a rebreather mask that he'd whipped out of seemingly nowhere, and Clay squeezed the bag as Roque and Cougar carried him to the van.

"No, no no," Pooch muttered, looking in the back seat and flooring the gas.

Fifteen minutes later (fifteen minutes of Jensen not breathing and then breathing on his own and then not breathing again, fifteen minutes of pressing on a bloody torso, fifteen minutes of Cougar holding Jensen's limp hand and whimpering in the back of his throat) they roared into the hospital, Jensen getting carted away on a stretcher, blood soaking everything.

Three hours later he was still in surgery.

"What the hell happened?" Roque demanded. He hadn't stopped pacing for the last half hour, likely the result of four cups of coffee.

"Things went to hell, fast, and then it was just- it was chaos. And then I, uh, I shot Jensen."

"You shot Jensen?" Pooch said, running a hand over his head. "Shit."

"Yeah," Clay said. "I know."

Cougar said nothing, but Clay didn't miss the slight hint of hostility in the glance he shot him.

Another hour and Jensen was in ICU, blood snaking into his arm and Russian doctors telling his team that he wasn't out of the woods yet and that his stomach had been perforated and part of his small intestine removed, and there was the chance of infection or other complications.

Clay sat next to the hacker, took in the tubes and wires and beeping machinery and quietly promised to himself, to his team, to Jensen that he wouldn't make the same mistake again.

He would die first.


	12. In Which Cougar Lays Down The Law

Cougar watched as the blood washed off his hands, swirling down the drain under a torrent of water. He knew why he was the one who always handled the stitches, knew that he had the steadiest hands and the neatest rows, but he hated it sometimes.

Like today.

Pooch had been top priority of course, and he'd passed out only a few stitches into the dozens he'd ended up with. Cougar had stitched quickly and efficiently, wiping the blood off between passes through his friend's skin. After he'd finished, they'd settled Pooch on the couch, freshly bandaged and looking a bit peakish, but overall looking much better than he had earlier.

And then it had been Jensen's turn.

They'd forgotten, or at least overlooked the fact that he'd been shot the day before when they'd gone off after Max. He'd done well, scaling walls and taking flying leaps that reminded Cougar (again) that Jensen was quite dangerous for all of his jokes and idiotic tendencies. After it was over, though, and they'd all clambered into the stretch Hummer that Jensen was so proud of, the hacker was alarmingly quiet, face pale and pinched, a large spot of blood on the center of his bandage.

"You tore your stitches," Cougar had chided gently. Jensen had shrugged tiredly, a lopsided grin on his face.

"Sorry," he'd muttered, slim fingers brushing lightly over the wound.

Cougar watched with narrow eyes as Jensen relaxed into sleep, head lolling against the headrest. He'd worked hard on those stitches, made them as small and neat as he could. Still, he couldn't exactly blame the hacker for his actions, for refusing to abandon his team.

Jensen had remained conscious the entire time Cougar was replacing the pulled stitches, familiar teething toy once again clamped between his teeth. His face was pale, dark rings under his eyes and hair lacking its normal vibrancy, drooping over his forehead and into his line of sight.

Now, he was sleeping soundly in a cot they'd set up next to the couch Pooch was occupying, both easily visible should one of them need anything. Cougar was concerned about Pooch's blood loss, but didn't think it was anything severe enough that he wouldn't be okay after resting for a few days. He was more worried about Jensen getting an infection; there was always that danger, but busting his stitches in such unsanitary conditions definitely didn't help.

"They'll be fine," Clay said, coming up behind Cougar and turning off the tap. Cougar looked up, startled; he hadn't even realized that the water was still running, that his hands had gotten wrinkled and pruny. He wiped his hands on his pants and pushed his hat back from his forehead, allowed his shoulders to relax.

"You look beat," Clay observed. "You should go lie down. We've got time, now."

"Where's Aisha?" Cougar asked abruptly. Clay looked up, a slight frown on his face.

"She's out back," he said finally. Cougar nodded and turned to leave.

"Cougar?"

Cougar turned back.

"Don't kill her. She still saved our asses out there."

Cougar nodded once then stepped outside.

Aisha was there as Clay had said, sitting on an overturned barrel.

"Hey," she said as Cougar approached. Cougar tipped his hat in response, then sat on a barrel next to Aisha's.

"Thank you," he said without making eye contact.

"Yeah," she answered.

"It is only because you saved our lives that I have not killed you for shooting Jensen."

There was an awkward pause.

"I might be harder to take out than you think," Aisha said finally.

"It does not matter," Cougar answered. "I have taken out people more frightening than you." The 'and they didn't do anything to Jensen' hung unspoken, but obvious in the air.

"It won't happen again," Aisha said, "unless you make the first move against me."

"I will not let it happen again," Cougar said. "I will kill you before you touch him again."

"Fair enough."

"Good," Cougar said, standing upright. "Thank you again."

"No problem," Aisha answered.

It was only after Cougar had gone back into the room that Aisha found his knife tucked into the belt at the curve of her back, and she quietly vowed to herself that she would never, ever threaten Jensen again.


	13. In Which Jensen is Again a Badass

"Drop your weapon," Jensen snarled, pistol raised and aimed. The man across from him leered and pulled Cougar up higher, his gun jammed into the sniper's throat. Cougar winced lightly, and Jensen once again noticed how awkwardly his arm was hanging, the odd bend in his right forearm making it clear that his arm was broken.

"Not a chance," the man answered. Cougar was gritting his teeth, sweat trickling down his forehead. His hat lay trampled in the dust next to his feet, and the sight of it made Jensen even more pissed, his blood boiling.

"I said drop your fucking weapon!" He roared, arms ramrod straight in front of him. He made eye contact with Cougar, watched as his friend gave him a slight nod, then returned the sign. The next instant, Cougar went completely limp, sagging in his captor's arms. Jensen made short work of the suddenly exposed captor, double tapping him between the eyes, before quickly heading to Cougar's side.

"Damn it, your arm's a mess," Jensen muttered, kneeling next to his friend. Up close, he could see that a shard of bone was sticking out of the sniper's arm, and that his hand was swollen and discolored. "He break your hand too?"

Cougar nodded, swallowing heavily. Jensen swore again, pulling a wad of bandages out of his backpack.

"Can't do much for it out here, but I'll try to minimize the bleeding and get it immobilized, okay?"

Cougar nodded wordlessly. Jensen looked at him with concern for a minute before busying himself working on Cougar's arm, trying to ignore the small grunts of pain. Finally satisfied with his work, he sat back on his heels and took in the sniper's appearance, the beads of sweat and the pale skin and the clenched jaw. It was clear that Cougar was starting to go into shock.

"Okay, I'm gonna help you to your feet, and then we're going to go to rendezvous, okay? Ten minute walk, max. You okay?"

Cougar nodded again, and Jensen shook his head.

"You're starting to freak me out, Cougs. You're being too quiet, even for you. Now are you okay with this?"

Cougar started to nod again, then offered Jensen a weak smile. "Si," he said. Jensen grinned.

"That's my boy! Hang on a sec, you good? You standing?"

"Si," Cougar mumbled, and Jensen smiled again, stooping down to pick up Cougar's hat. He brushed it off and tried to plump it up, but it seemed sadly battered beyond repair.

"Here ya go," he said, settling it gently on Cougar's head. "You ready to go?"

Cougar grunted something that sounded like an affirmative, so Jensen looped an arm under Cougar's good one and started moving forward.

"I can walk by myself," Cougar said quietly. Jensen snorted.

"Yeah, I'm sure you could, big guy, but you aren't going to, so you might as well give up."

"Jensen-"

"Nope. Look, you've been losing blood and you've been in pain for however long, and you're starting to go into shock. I'm helping you walk. Got it?"

Cougar sighed heavily.

"Fine."

"Good."

They had walked for about five minutes in mostly silence, Jensen occasionally speaking and Cougar occasionally grunting in response, when Cougar stopped abruptly, his posture suddenly defensive. Jensen stopped too, swiftly pulling his sidearm and handing Cougar his backup piece.

"Hang back," Jensen said as he crouched forward. "Don't shoot unless you've got a clear opening from where you are or they take me down."

Cougar nodded, though he didn't much look like he liked Jensen's orders. Jensen continued to move forward. Suddenly, a man burst out of the underbrush, clearly startled to see them, his gun outraised. He was shaking.

"D-don't move! Stop!" He yelled, pointing his gun directly at Jensen's head. Jensen raised his hands above his head, pistol in one.

"I'm just going to lower my weapon, okay? I'm putting it down. Just calm down." As he spoke, he slowly crouched and set his gun on the ground; behind him, Cougar did the same thing.

"What are you doing, man?" Jensen asked, hands still upraised as he drew himself up to his full height. "You leave us alone, you get out of here with no problems. Otherwise…" he let his voice trail off, looking intently at the man.

"Just shut up!" The man yelled. "That's bullshit!"

"You know what?" Jensen asked, subtly shifting his weight. "This is bullshit."

Having said that, he crossed the distance to the other man in two steps, gripping the barrel of the gun and shoving it to the side even as he sent a fist slamming into his opponent's face. The gun discharged even as the man cried out, falling backward. Jensen was on him in a second, swiftly gripping under the chin and jerking sharply to the left. There was a crack, then silence.

"Whew," Jensen said, standing up. "I could've done without that."

Cougar was staring at him wide-eyed, face drained of color.

"I'm not that much of a wimp," Jensen said with a grin. "Is it that surprising?" His tone changed abruptly as he fully took in Cougar's pallor.

"Oh, shit, that discharge, did it hit you?"

Cougar shook his head. "No. I think it hit you."

Jensen looked down and tentatively put a hand to his ribcage, looking up with wide eyes when his fingers came away bloody.

"Holy shit," he murmured, swallowing thickly and stumbling to Cougar's side. He'd used all the bandages he had on Cougar's arm, so tried to take his shirt off, hissing in pain as he jostled his wound.

"I can help," Cougar said, but he was still pale and shaky, and he only had his left hand to help. Still, between the two of them they got Jensen's shirt shucked off and sort of wrapped around his injury.

"There is an exit wound," Cougar said, and Jensen breathed out a shaky sigh of relief.

"Heh, guess something had to go right today," he huffed. He was actually concerned that the bullet may have nicked his lung, but he hadn't started to feel any symptoms yet, so he was hopeful that it wasn't as bad as he suspected.

"Okay, we've still got to get back," he said, but he was feeling lightheaded and a bit out of sorts. Cougar struggled to his feet and helped Jensen lurch upward. The hacker yelled in pain, doubling over and nearly falling to his knees, but Cougar's grip was firm and he barely remained upright.

"We are almost there," Cougar said. Jensen nodded.

"Hell yes we are," he agreed, though a little more weakly than he wanted. They pushed forward, slow shuffling steps, supporting each other as they struggled ahead.

"Cougar? Jensen! What the hell happened?" Roque demanded, catching Jensen's stumbling weight even as Clay caught Cougar.

"Hit a bit of trouble," Jensen gasped, laughing feebly. Roque shook his head and boosted Jensen into the back of the van right behind Cougar.

"Y'all attract energy the way Clay attracts crazy women," he muttered. Clay glared at him, then turned back to the wounded men.

"We're only twenty minutes out from the hospital, guys, just hang on, okay?"

Cougar nodded grimly and Jensen let out a quiet 'yes sir' before hissing in pain as Roque tightened the makeshift bandage.

"It's just a mosquito bite, Jensen," Roque said, but it was more gentle than Jensen was expecting. "Stop your whining."

"Aww, come on," Jensen answered breathlessly. "At least- a- snake-bite."

"Yeah, maybe a little garter snake," Roque shot back, but he looked concerned. "You okay?"

"Umm, it's getting- hard- to breathe," he gasped, struggling to draw in harsh breaths. Cougar's face swam into his vision and he mouthed something, but Jensen's ears were ringing and he wasn't sure what the sniper was trying to say. His fingers started tingling, his limbs suddenly heavy, and then everything was black.

xxxx

He woke up to whiteness and the smell of plastic and the feel of starchy sheets. Hospital. And he was on oxygen, with a heart rate monitor beeping steadily in the background. Must've been bad.

"Hey. Glad you're awake," Clay said, and Jensen blinked hazily at him.

"Clay?"

"Yep."

"Where's Coug?" Jensen asked, trying to sit up. He winced and hissed in pain.

"Just relax. He just got sent back up to surgery. He's okay," Clay reassured quickly, seeing Jensen's look of panic, "but they're going in to fix up his arm."

"He'll- he'll get full use of it, right?" Jensen asked fearfully.

"They think so," Clay said. "The orthopedic was optimistic."

"Good," Jensen murmured, falling back against the pillows. "How long?"

"Three days. You passed out, nearly stopped breathing, but we got you here in time."

"You always do," Jensen murmured. He was already so tired that he was falling asleep again.

"Coug's really okay?"

"Coug's really okay. Get some rest, kid."

"Yes sir."


	14. In Which Bolivia Has Sketchy Food

If there was one upside to being stuck in Bolivia, presumed dead, and away from home and family, it was the food. Clay and Roque managed to stick to food that at least resembled American food, steak and fried chicken whenever (wherever) they could find it. Pooch was a little more adventurous, relying on Cougar to point out good food that was neither too spicy nor too bland, but it was Jensen and Cougar who most appreciated Bolivian cuisine.

It had seemed to be a given that Cougar would enjoy the food because although it was different than Mexican food, it still had a lot in common and Cougar loved spicy food. Surprisingly though, it had ended up being Jensen who was the most adventurous, trying anything and everything, street food, hole-in-the-wall restaurants, market food…there was almost nothing he hadn't tried, and for the most part, that was fine.

Except, Pooch thought as Jensen heaved into the toilet yet again, for right now. They weren't sure what exactly had been the cause of Jensen's illness, but it was a safe bet that whatever he'd picked up had been from something he ate, and he'd vomited a dozen times in the last few hours.

"Hey, you done?" Pooch asked as Jensen settled down a little bit. Jensen nodded slightly, then shivered. Pooch handed him a blanket though it was hotter than hell in the motel room, and then helped him wrap up in it.

"Come on, Jensen," he said, helping the hacker to his feet and then directing him toward the couch. Jensen stumbled slightly but made it without any trouble. Pooch helped him get situated and then handed him a bottle of water and a large bowl.

"Okay, I've got to head into work. Keep sipping this water, Jensen, or you're going to get dehydrated. Got it?"

"Got it," Jensen mumbled, his death grip on the water bottle turning his knuckles white. He was clearly trying to hold down a wave of nausea.

"Okay. See you in a few."

Pooch left without any further instructions, hurrying toward the repair shop where he'd been working. He felt bad for Jensen, he did, but he had work and everyone else had already left to their respective jobs, and he couldn't just sit around rubbing Jensen's back while he puked. Pooch had warned him to lay off the street food; the damn idiot had gotten himself food poisoning anyway and deserved his day of puking.

At least, that's what Pooch tried to tell himself.

Work was obnoxiously boring, changing oil and replacing windshields and not nearly engaging enough to distract Pooch from remembering how bad Jensen had looked. He told himself, again, that Jensen had done it to himself, that he was fine, just out of it for a day or two, but it was only a couple hours later when Pooch sighed and stood up, informed his boss that he had an emergency and needed to leave, then hurried back toward the motel room. Annoyed at himself for being unable to ignore the feelings of worry mixed with guilt, he swore to himself that he would kick Jensen's ass if he opened the door to find the techie playing video games.

He needn't have worried.

Upon opening the door to their room, Pooch was overwhelmed with the unmistakable stench of illness, probably both vomit and diarrhea. Jensen was sprawled on the floor between the bathroom and the couch, a puddle of puke next to his head.

"Jensen! Oh, shit," Pooch swore, hurrying to Jensen's side.

"'M okay," Jensen murmured, pushing himself up on weak limbs. "Jus' didn't make it in time. Sorry."

"Dude, no need to apologize," Pooch answered, helping Jensen to his feet. There was dried vomit on Jensen's shirt, and the hacker looked away and blushed. "Hey, don't worry about it. I've seen worse."

"What about work?" Jensen asked as he pulled the soiled shirt over his head.

"I left early," Pooch answered, eying the half-empty water bottle on the table. "Did you drink any water?"

"Couldn't keep it down," Jensen replied with a groan. "Sorry."

"It's fine, Jensen. Look, let's get you laying down and try to get some more fluids into you, okay?"

Jensen smiled weakly and shrugged.

"Whatever you say, Pooch. Prob'ly won't work, though."

Pooch looked again at the pale hacker, noted the dark rings under his eyes and the lightly trembling fingers, and hoped that it would.

xxxx

Clay wondered if Cougar had gotten the same phone call he had just received. Pooch had sounded worried, not yet panicked, but definitely concerned, about Jensen, and Clay realized with a pang of guilt that he hadn't even checked that morning to see if Jensen was feeling any better.

"Hey, Roque," Clay said, trying to get Roque's attention away from the cock fight that they had money riding on. "Roque!"

"Yeah, what?" Roque said, finally turning away from the fight.

"Jensen's in trouble."

Roque rolled his eyes. "What's new?"

"Pooch is worried."

"Then Pooch can deal with it," Roque said, taking a swig of whiskey.

"I'm going back to the motel room," Clay said, standing. "You can come or not."

"Damn it," Roque muttered, pushing to his feet. "Damn idiot hacker."

Clay didn't even try to hide his smirk.

Of course, that smirk was wiped off his face as soon as he opened the door to the motel room, stunned by the overwhelming smell.

"Shit!" Roque barked from behind him, bringing a hand up to his nose. "He'd better be dying."

"What the hell's going on?" Clay demanded as he caught sight of Jensen curled up on the couch. He was trembling and grunting in pain.

"Muscle spasms," Pooch answered. "He's dehydrated as hell."

"Jensen?" Clay said quietly, crouching down next to the prone man's form. "Can you hear me?"

Jensen muttered something unintelligible and weakly waved a hand through the air. Clay turned to Pooch, who shrugged.

"He's been pretty out of it the last half hour or so."

Cougar suddenly appeared from the bedroom carrying the advanced field kit they had. He made short work of selecting an IV bag and handing it to Roque before turning to Jensen. He tapped at Jensen's arm, swearing under his breath when he couldn't find a vein.

"All his veins are collapsed," he said quietly, moving to the other arm. He shook his head and tried to insert the needle into Jensen's arm, cursing when he missed the first time and Jensen groaned.

"Lo siento," he whispered, trying again and nodding in satisfaction before hooking up the saline bag that Roque was holding.

"Cougar? His breathing sounds kind of off," Pooch said. Cougar moved up to Jensen's face and listened to his breathing before shifting and pressing his ear against Jensen's chest.

"Heart sounds wrong," he said finally. "Happens with dehydration."

"Shit," Roque mumbled. "What the hell do we do for that?"

Cougar's response was to hold up a syringe.

"How do you know that?" Roque demanded, watching as Cougar inserted the contents into Jensen's IV.

"I actually paid attention in first aid," Cougar responded, pulling out another syringe. "This one should help with the vomiting."

"Did you know he knew all this?" Roque asked Clay under his breath.

"What, you think I would let us go out there with only your first aid knowledge? Hell yeah, I knew. Jensen knows almost as much as Cougar, when he's not the one needing the help."

"That should help," Cougar said finally. "We need to keep him cool, avoid heat stroke."

"On it," Clay said, leaving the room.

"He'll need light foods," Cougar continued, turning to Pooch. "Bananas, or rice. Something like that."

"Got it," Pooch said. "Nice work, Cougs."

Cougar nodded in acknowledgement of his friend's compliment.

"What about me?" Roque asked. Cougar grinned up at him.

"You hold the saline."

xxxx

Two days later, Jensen was back on his feet and just as annoying as usual.

"Glad to see you back to normal," Pooch commented, watching Jensen eat breakfast.

"Yeah," Jensen answered. "But I hate this shit." He dipped his spoon into his oatmeal and watched with a disgusted expression as the mush dribbled back into the bowl.

"Hey, you deserve it, man."

"I know," Jensen said with a sigh. "I'm thinking about using Roque as one of those testers, you know? The ones who tested food for poison before the king ate it."

Pooch laughed.

"Good luck with that, Jensen. You get that man to eat an enchilada and I will be impressed."

Jensen looked up in excitement.

"Is that a bet?"

Pooch narrowed his eyes for a second.

"Yeah, it is."

"Sweet!" Jensen crowed, standing up. "Well, I'm late for the doll factory, but it's on Pooch. 20 bucks says he eats one by the end of the week."

"Oh, it's on," Pooch answered, shaking his head as Jensen walked out the door.

xxxx

Three days later, he handed his money over to a very smug looking Jensen as Roque happily ate a pile of four enchiladas.

"How the hell did you do that?" He asked, watching incredulously as Roque started in on his third.

"Mad skills, bro," Jensen answered.

Pooch sighed. He couldn't wait to get out of Bolivia.


	15. In Which Aisha Needs Saving

Aisha loved a good firefight. She loved the feel of a gun in her hands and the smell of gunpowder and the ping of spent bullet casings hitting the ground. She hadn't exactly found herself at a loss for firefights in a long time, but since hooking up with the Losers she'd found herself in even more than usual.

Of course, it was different when you were part of a team. Aisha had grown used to the idea of having someone to watch your back, and of the responsibility of watching someone else's. She had even grown to like it, maybe, and even to count on it.

So she probably shouldn't have been surprised when someone crouched down next to her, talking gently and pressing a bandage against the side of her head.

"Hey Aisha," someone said. "I know you were hoping for Clay, but he's a bit tied up right now, so you're stuck with me. Can you open your eyes?"

Aisha hadn't realized that her eyes were closed. She blinked with effort, heavy eyelids protesting her attempts until she l finally ooked up into the blurry outline of what appeared to be Bigfoot.

"Hey, there ya go. Knew you could do it." Whoever was above her exhaled sharply. "Damn girl, you got yourself nailed pretty good. You're lucky it's just a graze, Aisha."

Aisha said something that sounded like 'don't feel lucky' in her head, but came out sounding a lot more…jumbled. Bigfoot chuckled.

"You've got a hell of a concussion though, huh?" There was the sound of something crinkling and then her head exploded into a burst of pain.

"Sorry about that, gotta keep pressure on. Head wounds bleed like a bitch." A needle slid into her arm and she jumped slightly, doing her best to glare at Bigfoot when she wasn't sure she was actually seeing him.

"Just a painkiller, Aisha. It'll kick in soon."

Aisha grunted, then peeled her eyes open again. This time, Bigfoot more closely resembled a person, one with spiky hair and glasses…

"'sen?" Aisha slurred. Jensen grinned.

"Yeah! Nice job, girl. You're doing great. Now, I don't know how much you're really aware of right now, but we're basically in the middle of a firefight. Your head got grazed, so I'm here to get you to safety, okay? It's gonna hurt, probably a lot, but I know you're a tough broad and you're going to be fine. Okay?"

Aisha gave him a weak thumbs-up. The meds must have started to kick in, because suddenly she wasn't feeling too bad, kind of like she was floating-

Oh shit. The happy feeling disappeared as she was lifted, her head spinning with the change in position as Jensen settled her over his shoulders. He was being pretty gentle, really, but every step he took jostled Aisha's head more, and she found herself battling not to puke.

And then she lost the battle and vomited all over Jensen's shoulder.

"Oh, great, that's great," Jensen mumbled, but he didn't falter at all, and if anything increased his speed. "You owe me a new shirt once we get out of here."

Aisha tried to mumble an apology, and then realized that she must be pretty hurt if she was considering apologizing to Jensen.

"Don't worry about it, I love getting vomited-"

Jensen cut off with a short cry, stumbling before starting forward again, slower this time, but steady. Aisha knew that for some reason, that was not a good thing, but she couldn't quite figure out why and resigned herself to dangling uselessly over Jensen's surprisingly broad shoulders. She heard his voice vaguely saying something, probably into his comm. unit, but she couldn't make out the words.

And then she was falling, though instead of the hard landing she was expecting, she was on top of something, Jensen probably, and he was gasping and shuddering beneath her.

"Jensen," she mumbled, trying to sit up but swaying dizzily. "Jensen!"

He continued to gasp, and then it sounded like choking and her hand was in something warm and sticky and damn her head hurt, but maybe that didn't matter anymore because Jensen was actually dying -

Someone picked her up, and she didn't even have the strength to vomit as the nausea rolled over her. She could hear frantic voices and with her blurred vision, she could see shapes crouched over what must have been Jensen.

"Hang in there, Aisha, hang on," someone said, and she realized after a second that it was that rumbly voice that belonged to Clay.

"Clay," she gasped, an arm flailing. "Jensen!"

"He's going to be okay," Clay said, but Aisha could hear the trembling undertone, even through the haze.

Cougar was saying something in rapid-fire Spanish, and Pooch was bellowing something frantically.

Doesn't sound okay, Aisha tried to say, but she couldn't make it sound right. Clay seemed to understand anyway.

"He's, uh, he's hurt, but we'll get him fixed up. Get you fixed up too. Just relax, Aisha, okay?"

Aisha wanted to tell him to fuck off, that she didn't want to relax when her teammate (and friend?) was bleeding (to death?) so close to her, but then those damn heavy eyelids came back along with a darkness that crept into the edges of her vision, and then she was out.


	16. In Which A Mission Takes A Shocking Turn

Honestly, even later, no one was exactly sure what happened, least of all Jensen. One minute, everything was going pretty much to plan, and the next…well, the next minute, everything went to hell in a handbasket.

The Losers were on the hunt for yet another warlord, this one in the former Soviet Union, who was starting to rile up trouble. The place they were stationed was a mess, crumbling buildings and live electric wires and broken water pipes scattered throughout the town.

"What the hell kind of warlord lives in a shithole like this?" Roque demanded, grimacing at the undeniable stench of human fecal matter that hung around the apartment they were in. They had all been thinking it, but Roque was the first to voice it.

"I don't know, maybe he likes fixer-uppers," Jensen supplied, setting up his laptop.

"Seriously?" Roque growled, glaring at the hacker. Jensen ignored him.

"Good thing I brought a few spare batteries," he muttered, fingering his computer. "I don't trust this electricity."

"I don't trust you," Roque mumbled. Jensen barked out a surprised laugh, and even Clay was smirking.

"Good one Roque," Pooch drawled. "Way to be intimidating."

Roque glared at Pooch and fingered his knife. Cougar looked up from where he was cleaning his gun and looked purposefully at Roque. Roque put his knife down.

"Okay, so I'm set up and into their security system. Talk about a piece of cake," Jensen said with a grin, popping his knuckles. "I'll get y'all in and out no problem."

"Great. Get some sleep; we move out in 5."

Five hours later, the slightly more rested men roused and set about getting ready.

"Okay, so Jensen hacks into the security system and then provides backup from this building. Cougar is on the roof to the east, Pooch is waiting across the street from the building and he's also providing backup, and Pooch and I go in to take Kushnir out. Questions?"

"Nope."

"Got it."

"Nada."

"Hell no."

"Okay. Then let's get this done, and get the hell out of here."

xxxx

Jensen was, frankly, a little bit bored. When he'd said their security system was a piece of cake, he had meant it. It had taken maybe ten minutes to get in and loop the feeds, and though he was supposed to be providing backup, so far he hadn't needed to. It was pretty lame, really.

And, to make things worse, it was starting to rain. He hated the rain.

"Damn it. Of course it's raining. I mean, how often does it rain in the Ukraine? It snows here, it doesn't rain. But no, I'm here, so of course it has to rain. Can't you give me a break, universe? I know I'm not the best person around, but come on!"

Once Jensen was done ranting, he sat still, gun held at the ready, praying for some stupid henchman to come into his line of vision.

"Come on, come on," he muttered. He could hear Cougar's rifle firing now, and shouts from inside the building, so he figured that Clay and Roque had gotten their job done. A minute later, and Jensen saw Clay run out, followed closely by Roque, followed closely by a bunch of angry looking soldiers.

"Yes," Jensen hissed, rifle cracking as he started firing in short bursts.

Suddenly, his comm. link made a loud crackling noise and Jensen hissed in pain, yanking it from his ear. It wasn't until he noticed that Clay had stumbled and his comm. had gotten wet that he realized the sound was that of a comm. link that was sparking out.

"Shit!" He groaned, standing up. Roque was yelling something and throwing Clay's arm up over his shoulder. Jensen wasn't sure what was going on, but even with Cougar providing cover fire, Roque was probably going to need help.

Firing a few more times, he ducked out of the window he was crouched in and ran into the street.

And then there was a flash of light and a jolt of pain and then black.

xxxx

Cougar was the only one who really saw anything. Clay went down hard from what looked like a shot to the shoulder, though if they were really unlucky, it could have nicked a lung. Roque was struggling to get Clay out, trying to heave the other man's body over his shoulder and only moderately succeeding. Cougar was about to go down to help when he spotted Jensen leaving the doorway.

Jensen stopped suddenly, and at first Cougar was confused. It took him a moment to realize that Jensen wasn't just stopping. He was suddenly stiff, his muscles seizing, his arms tight to his sides.

"Mierda," Cougar hissed as Jensen collapsed limply to the ground. Jensen was being electrocuted.

Cougar continued providing cover fire for both Jensen and Roque and Clay until there was a lapse in the flow of soldiers coming out, then bolted down the stairs of the rickety building he was in.

"Pooch!" He yelled, running toward Jensen. "Pooch!"

"What?" Pooch yelled back from across the street. "What the hell's wrong with the comms?"

"Help Clay!"

Pooch nodded and jumped out of the van, heading toward Clay, who was laying in a crumpled heap with Roque standing over him, firing at enemy combatants.

"Jensen!" Cougar yelled, nearing the hacker's still form. "J!"

He nearly stepped in the puddle that had been the cause of Jensen's electrocution before he stopped himself. He knew that he had to get the live wire out of the water before he could help Jensen, so he quickly found a wooden stick long enough to allow him to shove the wire away.

And then he knelt next to the hacker's still form. Utterly still form. There was no rise and fall of his chest, no twitch of movement other than the residual clenching of his muscles left over from the electrocution.

"Pooch!" Cougar screamed. "Pooch, hurry!"

Pooch looked up from where he had just deposited Clay in the back of the van, face screwed up in concern, then vaulted into the driver's seat.

Cougar laid Jensen out flat on the ground, feeling desperately for a pulse. Unable to find one at the hacker's neck, he leaned over the prone body and pressed his ear to Jensen's chest, praying to feel something, anything.

Nothing.

"Come on," Cougar muttered, starting chest compressions. "Pooch! Damn it!"

The van pulled up, finally, and Roque threw the back door open.

"What the hell is going on?" He barked, helping lift Jensen into the back. Cougar resumed compressions as soon as he was in the van, and Pooch drove away.

"Electrocuted," Cougar muttered, continuing CPR. "We need a defibrillator. Damn it!"

Clay was rousing slightly, heaving in broken gasps, clutching a bandage to his shoulder.

"The hell?" He murmured, watching with wide, slightly unfocused eyes as Cougar continued compressions.

"Sit back, Clay," Roque ordered. "Try to stop that bleeding. Pooch, how far are we from transport?"

"Ten minutes," Pooch answered, turning the wheel sharply.

"Not good enough," Roque answered, watching as Cougar leant over Jensen's chest again. The sniper swore with a trembling voice, then started again, pressing furiously.

"Let me," Roque said, moving to Jensen's side and trying to ignore how pale, how dead the other man looked.

"No," Cougar grunted, but the stress of the situation was clearly taking its toll.

"Help Clay. I've got this," Roque said. "That's an order, soldier."

Cougar numbly stopped, scooting out of the way and watching as Roque took over for him.

"Help Clay," Roque commanded. "Watch his breathing."

"Okay," Cougar said quietly, pressing on Clay's bandage. Clay grunted in pain, but Cougar didn't let up. Neither did Roque.

"How close?" He roared. Pooch's voice, when he answered, was high and tight, worried and anxious.

"Two minutes, max."

"Damn it," Roque said, looking at Jensen's face for the first time. The hacker's eyes were half way open, the pupils rolled back so that only the whites were showing. His hair was standing up straight, and his head jostled ever so slightly with every compression. "Shit! Come on, Jensen, damn it!"

"We're here," Pooch yelled, launching himself out of the van and toward the waiting transport helicopter.

"We need a medic!" He shouted. "We need a defibrillator! Right now!"

Someone came running out of the helicopter with an orange first aid kit, followed closely by two other men. The two men helped Clay into the helicopter while the one with the first aid kit climbed into the van.

"What happened?" He asked, cutting up Jensen's shirt with a pair of scissors.

"Electrocuted, " Roque answered. Cougar was still sitting numbly in the corner of the van, hands bloodied.

"Okay, stop compressions," the medic ordered, slapping sticky pads to Jensen's chest when Roque complied. He waited until the defibrillator was charged, then pressed the button that would administer the shock. Jensen's whole body jolted briefly, then fell still again. the medic pressed a finger to Jensen's neck, waited a moment, swore, then pressed the button again. Jensen jolted again.

"Got a pulse, but we've got to move," the medic said.

"Cougar, help us," Roque ordered, jolting the sniper out of his shock. They wrangled Jensen's limp form from the van and ran to the helicopter.

xxxx

"Clay's doing okay. Doctor said his shoulder won't have any long term damage," Pooch said.

"Awesome," Jensen replied.

There was a pause.

"You scared the hell out of Cougar," Pooch said, watching as Jensen picked at the jello on his tray.

"Yeah, well. Not like I meant to," he muttered, itching at the IV in his hand. "And I'm fine now."

"No, Jensen, you were dead, man. Like, not breathing, no heartbeat dead."

"Shit," Jensen said, eyes wide.

"Yeah. So if Cougar seems a little…clingy, don't give him a hard time."

Jensen looked up. "Clingy?" He whimpered.

Just then, Cougar burst into the hospital room, rambling in Spanish, then threw himself on Jensen, wrapping him in a hug.

"I'm fine, Cougs," Jensen gasped, struggling to breathe beneath the onslaught of Cougar's hug. "Really! I'm fine!"

Cougar let him up but kept up the scolding. Jensen looked desperately at Pooch, who smirked and waved before leaving the room and closing the door.


End file.
